Snapshots of Grey: Darker Through Grey Eyes
by AshBax
Summary: Scenes from Christian's perspective that take place immediately following Fifty Shades of Grey and move into Fifty Shades Darker. I stick close to the story and characters EL James created, but take liberties with situations and dialogue. No cheating ever. I just love getting into the mind of Grey and making him fun.
1. Chapter 1

I haven't shaved. It's probably a good thing. A blade so close to my throat might give me ideas about my future, or rather lack thereof, now that I don't have my Ana anymore. I haven't eaten, either. I've only been drinking. Pink champagne, but still. It's the stuff that reminds me of her and brings numb to the ache of her being gone. If you could envision a man stranded in the desert without water or food, gasping for air as the sun blisters his back, and crawling on battered knees toward the Hail Mary promise of a distant oasis, that would not be me. That would be my lottery winning friend.

Glue sticks to my fingers as I place the intricate parts of the glider- Ana's glider- together. I've been in the same position for hours, trying to finish her gift to me. Her note said it reminded her of a happy time. It reminds me of her, and nothing has been happy since she's been gone.

My phone buzzes. Each new call I get, I jump. In those precious seconds before I answer, I have hope that it's her. Maybe she's coming back. Maybe she's forgiven me. Maybe it was all just a nightmare that the ring is waking me from, and she's really naked, next to me in my bed. Those few seconds are all I have now, and like her, they leave fast.

I look at the caller ID. Ana's not naked. It's Elena. Fuck.

"I don't want to talk," I answer sharply, but I notice my voice sounds weak and cracked.

"Well, that's a warm greeting for a dear friend. What's wrong? Why haven't you returned my calls? I've been worried about you. You never told me how your trip went."

Georgia... I touch the glider, gently.

"The trip was everything I wanted it to be... And More." More... That word.

"Oh," she says, and then pauses for a long moment, as if she's working out a thought. "So, that's why you didn't call?"

"I haven't been well, I say, lining the remaining glider pieces along my desk, arranging them in order of their future placement.

"Are you sick? Do you want me to bring you something? Let me take care of you, Christian."

Take care of me? Yes, take me out back with a revolver and put me out of my misery Old Yeller style.

"No. I'm not sick for Christ's sake. Just... Please, leave me alone."

"What are you doing right now?"

"Just gluing things together."

I watch the rain pouring outside my window. It's been non-stop. Maybe if I stand outside and just look up for awhile, like those turkeys do, it will drown me.

"You don't sound like yourself."

"I'm not." And, I won't be again. I watch a tree being blown by storm winds. It's pulled back and forth as vicious howls sound and its leaves are ripped from its branches. Although the tree tree stays rooted, it's shaken violently by the sheer force around it. How can it survive such a thing? Why would it even want to?

"Is _she_ making you this way?" The way Elena says '_she_' irritates me.

"Her name is Anastasia. And, she's... gone." Gone... The word weighs so final.

My chest heavies, as I choke back a sob. I drop a piece of the glider I'm holding to the floor and scramble to get it before it's lost and loses its place in the line.

"Oh, Christian, it's for the best." She sighs, with what sounds like relief, which really pisses me off.

"The best?! I'm shit here!"

"She would never understand our lifestyle. She's just different."

"You're right," I shoot back. She's sweet and kind and innocent, and I'm a monster." A branch snaps from the tree. The wind carries it a stretch, and then it crashes into a parked cab.

"Oh, Christian. Don't be so hard on yourself. You made an error in judgement. That's why you're hurting. You allowed her to take your control. You must never do that again, do you hear me?"

Her shaking voice steals my attention from the storm. She sounds on the verge of control loss, herself.

"It was foolish. Pursuing some regular girl-"

"There is nothing regular about her!" Anastasia is the sun and the moon. Without her I have no light. She is everything, and- Fuck, when did I become a god damn poet? I sound like Shakespeare's angst ridden, pimple popping teenage brother. My thoughts drift. Shakespeare... British... Literature... Ana! All roads lead back to her.

"I knew when you went sneaking off on your own, no good would come of it."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" She makes it sound like I'm a kid, sneaking out my bedroom window to shoplift nudie magazines and vodka from the all-night liquor mart. Funny thing, she collared me when I did that, and introduced me to her cat.

"Pursuing a girl outside of the lifestyle. One you just happened to meet and turned your head."

"You mean actually liking someone and taking them for a coffee date instead of having an interview at my office and a punishment fuck audition in my playroom."

"You sound angry, Christian. Like you were before. That scares me that she could make you lose so much of your hard earned self control. Make you feel this way..."

"I like the way she makes me feel. I'm angry because I'll never feel that way again!" The only more I've ever wanted belongs to the girl who walked out on me. She's taken my heart with her. But, she hasn't stolen it. It belongs to her.

"You'll get over it."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Why don't I come over. We can talk. Have some wine. Spend time together."

"No, Elena. I don't want to see you. I'm tired. I haven't been sleeping well."

"Well, that's nothing new."

I stare out the window. The rain falling harder now. I can't see the branch anymore. I think it slid into the sewer and that was its end. But, the tree still stands. I look out over the city, knowing she's somewhere amongst the buildings, listening to the same rain falling. I wonder if she's okay. Is she warm? Dry? Safe? God, I hope she's safe. It would kill me if anything happened to her. I hope the photographer isn't with her, playing rainy day games with her like 'head's up seven up', pawing all over what's mine. Was mine. Christ! What I wouldn't give to wrap her in my arms and spend the day in bed playing rainy day games of our own.

"I slept well when she was beside me. The nightmares left. Now, they've returned. Worse than ever."

Dead silence on the line.

"You slept in her room? In her bed?" She sounds angry, punishing. If I was still her sub a caning would be in store.

"She also slept in mine." The most restful night's sleep I've ever had was wrapped around her.

"Christian!" She says sharply, in reprimand. "That's completely against the rules. You're a dominant. Why would you let your submissive get away with that?!"

"She was never my submissive. I didn't want her to be."

I've dropped it, the two ton truth that neither of us thought could be possible.

"So, you didn't make her sign the contract after Georgia." It's less of a question, and more of an accusation.

"No. She wanted more."

"And, you?"

"I wanted more, too."

She's quiet. I know this silence well.

"You don't honestly think she was your girlfriend, do you?"

The way she asks that, I know my answer should be no. She's right, I'd be a fool to think it could be anything else for someone like me. But, I look at the glider, and then to her note, and they somehow gives me strength to believe it could be more. She gave this to me after everything. I touch the words written by her hand, and her name signed in her pen. I run my finger along the loop of her A...

"Yes." It's a whisper, but it's there.

She laughs, and suddenly I feel so small and embarresed that I could ever believe such a thing.

"Oh Christian. This doesn't even sound like you speaking. We need to find you another girl. Someone who is willing to obey you. That girl could never give you what you want or need."

"Call her Anastasia!" The power and protectiveness I say her name with startles us both. "You're wrong, she gave me everything I need and want. I just couldn't do the same for her. This is my fault, because I'm so god damn fucked up. And now, she's gone. I just want to be left alone!"

I terminate the call, returning to the last pieces of my- our- glider. Once finished, hours later and deep into the night, I put it in a place of pride on my desk, remembering a happier time, and knowing without her I will never feel happy again. So, there, in the cold, dark silence of my office, I do what I have never done before,... I weep.

#######

"Sir, the Germans are wondering where you are," Andrea says in a conspiratorial whisper, after I finally answer her call number twenty.

"Who the fuck are the Germans?" Germans make me think of Europe, which makes me think of England and Twining's Tea, which makes me think of Ana dunking her little bag in her little cup of water, so cute and fast. Right now, I hate the Germans, whoever the fuck they are.

"The switches!"

"That's their name?"

"No! The energy saving light switches! The businessmen who you were to be seated with at the gala tonight. You've been after me to be after them for months."

Fuck. The gala. The one I was supposed to take Ana to. My first real date. I sigh.

"Tell them I'm busy. Plans came up."

"Plans came up?!" Andrea squeaks her shocked disapproval. And, Andrea's not a squeaker, so she's got serious disapproval issues with me. "They flew all the way from Hamburg and they're very tired! Plus, they're not happy with the menu tonight-"

"What?"

"They don't like seafood."

The fucking menu? That's their concern? If shellfish is your big heartache, you don't know shit about life.

"Tell them I don't fucking care about them, or their long flights, or their boo hoo fucking jet lag, or their god damn dinner selections! And, make sure to send over a bucket of king crab from me, along with a note that says I'm not fucking coming and they can stuff their switches up their asses and light themselves!"

"Uh... I don't think I can tell them all that, sir."

"Fine, tell them I'm dead."

I hang up.

"Fuck the Germans," I mutter, as I lie sprawled out on my back on the floor of my office, staring at a German light switch.

######

I don't eat, again. I drink, again. Two bottles of Bollinger this time. Every sip reminds me of her. Drinking from those teacups. God, why am I doing this? I'm punishing myself like I would a sub. But, it feels so much worse than a beating or a flogging. I am no good for her. I know that, and now she knows that, too. I should just come to terms with this and move on. It's what's best for her. Me? I don't deserve her. I need to accept that.

She broke the rules, I rationalize as well as a man drunk on pink champagne can. We agreed once she left that was it. She knew it. I knew it. But, God if she walked through the front door right now the last thing I would do is turn her away. I'd run to her and rip her clothes off. Maybe spank her, for pleasure not pain, and then I'd make love to her on the piano. Like I should have done the other night. I sigh, as I pour the last of the last bottle, at least I won't have to worry about her touching me. That offers me little consolation now.

I stumble toward my bedroom, then abruptly detour up the stairs. Up to her room. The one that was to be hers. The one she cried in days before as I held her. The one she told me she loved me in. She can't love me, it's wrong. She said she does. But, she doesn't know who I really am. I sigh, she has an idea now.

I open her closet and look at her clothes. Silks and satins. That's what Miss Anastasia Steele should wear. With or without me she should always have the best. I should send them to her. But, she would never accept them. I concoct a drunken plan to gift her things. I'll have Taylor secretly deliver them. Just so I know she's taken care of. She'll never know it's from me. The wine is talking, clearly. Who else would send her $3000 Louboutins and Prada bags? She's so stubborn. And headstrong. Nothing like a submissive. She doesn't have a submissive bone in her body. It would never work. I need control. But, God do I miss that smart mouth. I wish she was here defying me.

I crawl drunkenly into the bed. I can still smell her on the pillow. It's heavenly and comforting.

Christ, Grey! When did you turn into such a sap? I fall asleep in the submissive bedroom clinging to the pillow that smells like her, only to wake in a nightmare.

#######

"Christian, I haven't seen you for awhile. What made you call this emergency session on a Sunday?"

"I have a problem," I say, sitting on the couch in Flynn's office in a rain drenched jogging suit and third day beard growth. I've been here hundreds of times, but somehow today feels like the first. I shake my head, even this is a first because of Ana. There's a piece of leather lifting from the couch arm that my fingers have found and are working to destroy.

"I can see that. Tell me," Flynn says, opening his notebook, and readying a pen inked with judgement.

"I met a girl," I whisper, my tongue knotting up over the four letter word that is girl.

"And, this is why you look like shit?"

"Frankly, yes."

He leans back and places the top of that pen to his chin. They both scan me, probably to make sure it's really me and not some homeless man who walked in off the street to steal prescription samples. He's perplexed. I've never seen him perplexed. He's always such a fucking know-it-all. Under the usual circumstances I would claim victory in his perplexion, but today I claim victory in nothing. Because, all has been lost.

"Did you find a new submissive? I know you've been idle for a little while."

"I thought so, but it wasn't for her." I gaze off, unable to see anything but that last image of her tear stained face as she walked into my elevator and it took her away. I shut my eyes, bowing my head to my hands in pained agony. "She left me."

A moment of silence chills the room. I lift my head and peel my eyes open to find Flynn staring at me like I'm an obscene science project on the wonders of new life, or the two-headed calf at the county fair.

"I take it this wasn't one of your regular conquests."

"No, there's nothing regular about Miss Anastasia Steele." Her name on my tongue sounds so sweet. Flynn must notice, because he jots something down.

"So, how did you meet this Anastasia?"

"She fell into my office and ever since then, she consumes me." My mouth lifts, remembering her on hands and knees, those blue eyes sparkling up at me. It's the first time anything's moved upward in days.

He looks quizzically at me. "Go on."

I tell him every detail of our first encounter. How I stalked her at Clayton's, and rescued her from the photographer's rapist mouth when she was drunk and vomiting at that bar. Just telling him about that night she passed out, and how I brought her to the Heathman, and kissed her without paperwork in the elevator, lifts my spirits. Thinking of her, I get lost in what was. What could've been. Christ, when did my nuts get chopped off and replaced with feelings? Oh yeah, when she fell on my floor.

"So, you care for her well being?"

"Of course." What a stupid question.

"Sounds like a first for you, Christian."

I snort. He has no idea.

"Oh, I've had many firsts with Anastasia." There it is. Her name again. Dripping like honey from my Ana parched tongue.

It is a lovely name, isn't it Christian?"

"Yes, beautiful..." Like her.

He writes some more.

"So, tell me of these firsts."

"We talk, for one. She has opinions, and I listen to them... I mean, I don't beat her for them."

"Well, that's new." He chuckles.

I pull at the leather piece on the couch arm, clinging to its last threads for life.

"I like when she looks at me and calls me by my first name." I lean into him and whisper, as if this is the most revelatory thing of all. "I slept with her."

"You had sex with her?"

"Not just that. Slept. And by slept, I mean sleep. Like, good night, in my bed, with closed eyes and parts connected" I lean in further, so do Flynn and his pen. "And not just the parts I usually connect."

"Parts?" Does he really need me to spell this out? Fucking parts!

"Our bodies touched." I lower my voice, in all seriousness. The piece of leather now ripped from the couch arm and twisting in my fingers. "Without restraints." Sitting forward, I perch my elbows on my knees and rub my face with my hands. "I mean, I still wouldn't let her really touch me, but I held her and it was..." I look up, reaching for the word. "Amazing," I say it as though I'm discovering its meaning for the first time. I am.

"Well, that is truly a first."

"You look almost as surprised as my mother was when she saw her."

"She's met your mother?"

I nod. He writes.

"My whole family. They love her. There was a dinner."

"Well, this is surprising."

"There's a simple explanation. My mother came over right in the middle of... Well, I had just tied her to my bedpost and...

"You're mother's never come by when you're submissive has been there?"

"Of course, but they're locked up. This is different."

"How?"

"I wanted my mother to meet her."

"Why?"

I shrug and look off, thinking of how beautiful Ana was that morning. How I wanted my mother to see me with her.

"Ana's someone to be proud of. She's like no one I've ever known.

He crosses his legs. "How is she different from your other sexual partners?"

I snort. "She was a virgin, for one thing."

His mouth falls open so wide I can see his lunch.

"Did that shock you?"

"Hell the fuck yes! I just showed her my playroom. We were discussing the contract and hard limits, and she sprung it on me. I was so angry!"

"At her?"

"At myself."

"Why?"

"For exposing an innocent to my fucked up life."

"So, you were concerned about how this affected her in that moment?"

"Well, I'm not the devil. Close, but... I couldn't let her first time be shackled up and whipped."

"Like yours?"

Low blow. There's a long pause. I hate it, but he's right.

"So what did you do after her revelation?" He asks.

"I took her to my bed and made love to her as best I knew how. It wasn't all hearts and flowers, but it was a helluva lot different than my norm. I'd never had vanilla sex. Hell, I'd never had sex in my bed. I figured she had to know what sex was about and then maybe she'd agree to be mine. I hoped. And, she did agree for awhile. But, now she's gone."

I run my fingers through my hair in exasperation. I think I lost the piece of leather somewhere in my greasy bangs.

"You've never pursued a girl out of the lifestyle before. I don't even remember you actively pursuing one in the lifestyle. And, in all our time together you've never requested a session over your emotional anguish involving the termination of a contract between you and a sexual partner."

"She never signed the contract."

He sits back, stunned. I've really got him on his toes today.

"But, you continued the relationship anyway?"

"Yes. I considered her my..." Gulp. Dare I say it? "Girlfriend." It's a peep, but it's out there.

"That's a big word for you, Christian."

Why does he seem so damned delighted in my anguish?

"Well, now she's an ex." The two letters so bitter.

"Did she go in your playroom?"

"Yes, a few times."

"She didn't like it?"

"She liked the kinky stuff. She didn't like the extreme aspects. The punishments. And, I'm afraid I'll need that."

"More than you need her?"

That hit me like a brick in my face. It takes a moment for me to digest.

"No, I don't think so. I don't know. I just know nothing has ever hurt as bad as when she left."

His eyes widen, seemingly astonished.

"Nothing?

I know what he's asking.

"No, nothing." Even I surprise myself with the raw truth of that statement, considering my past.

He closes his notebook and leans forward, mouth in a grim line.

"Well, after careful analysis and consideration of the extreme symptoms you are experiencing, I can say with utmost certainty that you are suffering from a serious affliction."

What the fuck is he saying? He's speaking Freudian gibberish again. If he didn't have a British accent, no one would listen to him.

"What's wrong with me? Am I mad?!"

"I've never seen it hit someone so hard and fast."

"Christ, tell me! What the fuck is it?!"

He smirks. "You, my friend are in love."

Love. I sink into my seat. The wind knocked out of me. Yes, maybe I am. If it's possible I'm able to love at all. But, what the fuck do I do about it?!

The stray piece of leather falls from my head and hits the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Maybe Flynn is a charlatan, I mutter to myself as I jog away from his office and head towards Escala. Back to the hell that I am currently living. I have to laugh thinking of Ana's snarky assessment of the good doctor. It's the first laugh I've had in days and of course it belongs to her. Another first, Miss Steele. I smile. God, I miss her smart mouth. I miss it on mine. What I wouldn't give to bite that lip.

"I've fallen in love with you..." Her words still haunt. It's the best and worst thing I've ever heard.

She can't love me. It's wrong. But, she says she does and now I've been formally diagnosed with the same affliction.

I run.

"I will never leave you..." She promised as I lay watching her sleep. But, still she left and I am utterly broken. I would move heaven and earth to not feel that pain again. I don't think I could survive it.

I run faster.

"Are you willing to give up the lifestyle? The punishments? Being the dominant if that's what she needs?" Flynn's questions linger.

The sky darkens above me. Another storm brewing. I know better than to stay out when the clouds turn, but all my long measured reasoning fails me as I find myself running off course and toward Pike Place. Toward Ana. As I round the bend, I jog slowly down her street, so as not to miss anything. So slowly, I'm bested by an old lady and a cotton ball posing as a dog.

I just want to pass by her apartment once. Okay, maybe twice or if need be ten times. However many times it takes to see that she's safe and okay and not with the photographer. Who knows, maybe I'll run into her. She'll yell at me. We'll have a good fight that will get me so hard and her so wet I'll have to carry her back to her apartment over my shoulder, throw her on the bed and fuck her till she screams my name in sweet release. There is no better sound then when she comes with my name wrapped around her tongue. Only for me.

I stop running when I reach her place. Her windows are dark. Shades down. I know I'm being a stalker, but I also know she would expect nothing less from me. Dark windows could mean so many things, none of which I like. Is she asleep? If she is it probably means she hasn't eaten, which makes my palm twitch. Is she sadly sitting in darkness like I've been doing? I hate that I've brought her pain. Or maybe she's not in pain at all. Maybe she's out! Galavanting! Fraternizing with men! Drinking! Throwing up in bushes with no one to hold her hair. Fear of her safety consumes me.

I look for her parking spot. I know which one it is, because I know. Empty. Either she hasn't used the money I gave her to buy a new one or she's out driving God knows where in the rain. Probably in some second or fourth hand jalopy that the photographer's mother's mother's mother owned, putting herself at risk. Christ, what if the photographer is driving her around himself, groping her and trying to have his way with her and I'm not there to stop him from claiming what's mine?! I run my fingers through my hair, pulling in frustration.

"Fuck!"

"Are you all right?" The old woman with the Pom Pom dog asks as she passes me again. I'm snapped back in reality as the dog barks incessantly at me. I look at her for a long, hard moment.

"No."

She eyes me warily as she makes her way quickly up the walk and into her apartment. I think I hear her deadbolt lock.

The sky has opened up and it's starting to pour, but I don't move. My eyes stay fixed on Ana's darkened window and her empty parking spot as the water moves to drown me. Without a doubt I know I will take her any way she'll let me have her. I can't live without her, because I never lived before her.

"Mr. Grey, you're soaking wet," Mrs. Jones says, rushing to greet me as I make my way from the elevator. I say nothing as I drench the entry way. "I was getting worried. Are you okay? Do you need a towel?"

I stand there for a moment saying nothing. Doing nothing. Just remembering how Ana looked that last time I saw her crossing this very spot. Leaving me.

"Why don't you have a shower and I'll warm your dinner." She watches me. She probably thinks I've lost my mind. I'm sure she's right.

"No. I'm not hungry."

"You've hardly been eating." She sounds worried. Such a mother hen.

"I'm not hungry, I said." Now, I sound like Ana. God, I hope she's eating.

She watches me as I drag myself up the stairs. Sloshing on each step, my Nikes squeak on the freshly polished floors. I'm sure it bothers her that I'm dripping all over, but fuck it. It's my damn place. I make my way up to the submissive bedroom. Oddly, the very room I wanted to keep Ana locked away from me in is where I go to feel close to her. I am horrified when I turn the knob and witness the scene in front of me.

"Mrs. Jones!" I yell at the top of my lungs. "Mrs. Jones! What the hell-"

The room has been cleaned. The closet bared. Ana's hairbrush! It's gone from the vanity. The bedding changed. Everything's been vacuumed and scrubbed and emptied of any evidence that Ana was ever here.

"What's the matter, Mr. Grey?!" She says, running in. "Is something wrong?"

"What the hell did you do in here?!" I peel the bedspread back and smell the sheets. Her scent dead and buried under some floral fresh nightmare.

"I cleaned."

"Did I say you could do that?!"

"It's my job."

I move to the closet. Lines of empty hangers stare back at me. Shoe racks barren.

"You did more than clean! Where are her clothes?"

"I packed them away. I thought you would want me to."

"Why the hell would I want that?!"

"It's what you've always told me to do."

Of course. Each time a sub leaves she's been give direct orders to clear out the room and not bother me with the details. Erase the former's existence until a new one takes her place.

"She's not one of them. She never was." I sit on the bed and drop my head into my hands.

"I'm sorry, sir."

I know she's not just apologizing for the cleaned room. I look up. I've upset her. She's been through so much lately with the Leila situation and all.

"No, I'm sorry. I know you were just doing you job."

She looks surprised by my apology. I guess I don't apologize much.

I stand up, still dripping with the afternoon.

"Please put everything back the way it was," I say as a directive to her and a subtle plea to whoever in the heavens might be listening.

Freshly showered, I sit on the bed opening and closing the signature Cartier box that holds the diamond earrings I was going to give her last Saturday for the gala. She would've been my first real date. Open. Close. Open. Close. Open. Close. The repetitive action is almost meditative. Should I send these to her? Write her a note asking for a second chance? Second chance earrings, I smile. No, she'd never accept them. Not right now. One thing about Ana is that she does not love me for my money. She loves me... She loves me. The thought still pains me.

Her laptop and blackberry are sitting on the dresser. Mrs. Jones must have brought them up with the rest of her things. I walk over and pick up the blackberry. It's dead. I decide I should charge it, hoping that she might need it again. I plug it into the wall and leave it on the nightstand. After a few minutes it lights up. I notice her background picture is of me. She took it in Georgia in front of the glider. I close my eyes, remembering. And for the second night in a row, I weep.

"Ana, don't go! I won't hurt you!"

I run, chasing after her into a long, dim tunnel. She screams.

"Let me go! You're a monster!"

"Ana please, I love you. I will never hurt you again!"

I reach to grab her shoulder. She turns and suddenly the belt is in my hand. I don't know how it got there, but as hard as I try I can't let it go.

She takes off fast toward the light.

Suddenly, I see a small child. A dirty copper haired boy that looks just like me. He's crying. Burns all over his chest. She scoops him up, cradling him. Hushing his cries.

"I won't let you hurt him, either!"

She runs with him in her arms. Protecting him from me as he bawls. I try to reach for them, but I trip and fall into a mire of thick mud. I can't move. I watch, powerless, as they reach the light and disappear. Everything goes black...

"Ana!" I scream out, waking in a cold sweat just ahead of the sun. I'm sprawled out on the bed, still wearing a damp towel and nothing else. I realize it's Monday and I have to face a new week in the very place her beautiful blue eyes first looked into mine.

"Work!" I jump up, remembering it's her first day at SIP. I panic. How will she get there? Will she be safe? Fuck, that bastard Jack Hyde is her boss. He better not try anything! I feel powerless and that's not a feeling I'm well acquainted with.

I pick up my phone and dial.

"Taylor. Did you find out if Miss Steele cashed the check?"

"No, sir she hasn't."

Fuck. I hope she's not being headstrong about accepting the money. What am I thinking, of course she is. Well, that means she definitely doesn't have a car yet. How is she getting around? Dark thoughts swim in my psyche.

"Taylor. I want you to follow Miss Steele to work. Discretely. Just make sure she gets there safely and report back immediately.

"Yes, sir."

"Any news on Leila?"

"No sir."

I hang up. Fuck! What the hell is she doing out there?! I'm worried about her well being, but I can't think of Leila right now. All my thoughts are consumed with Anastasia. It's her first day of work and it should be properly congratulated. So, I decide to give the girl who wanted hearts and flowers just that.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Thanks so much for all of your follows and reviews! This is my first attempt at fan fiction and I'm really enjoying it. Here's a short chapter. The next one will be longer. xo_**

"The bus?!" I yell into my phone as I exit the elevator at GEH. Eyes in reception shoot up as I move through. "That's how she got to work?!" I fly past Andrea, who tries to hand me my coffee, but I wave her off, shoot inside my office and slam the door.

"Tell me everything, Taylor!"

"Miss Steele walked to the bus stop-"

"How far was that?!"

"I'd say a mile."

"A mile?!" I run the hand not clutching my phone in a death grip through my hair. My mind pulsates with thoughts of tragedy that could befall my sweet, trusting Anastasia in that one long mile. My Anastasia. Not mine anymore. Oh god, this is killing me! I peel my overcoat off and move to throw it onto the chair directly in front of my desk, but stop. That chair. The one she sat in when she interviewed me just weeks ago. I pass behind it and touch the soft leather. Funny how it used to be just a chair. Raising the ordinary to the extraordinary...

"Are you still there, Sir?"

I'm jolted back.

"Yes. What else?" I toss my over coat onto the side table. The table where she fumbled with that recorder... Christ, is there anything in this office that doesn't remind me of her?! No. And oddly I'm glad.

"She got on the bus." Why does Taylor sound like he's talking to a nursery school student?!

"What kind of bus?"

"A regular city bus."

"Was it well maintained?!"

"It looked up to standard."

"Who was driving this thing?!"

"I don't know that, Sir."

"Well find the fuck out! I want a background check!"

"Yes, sir. I'll get Welch on it."

I pace back and forth. There could be an accident! She could get mugged! Attacked! How many people were on that death trap with her?! She could catch something! Is Ebola still a threat?

"Did you see her get off the bus?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And?!" Why is the fuck is he drawing this out? To torture me?!

"And she walked to work."

More walking!

"Did she get inside the building?"

"Yes, Sir. She's safe at her desk."

"Not so safe," I grimace. "Not working for that womanizer Jack Hyde." I swear if he lays one hand on her I will kill him with both of mine bare.

"We'll keep an eye on him." Yes, we will! Now that I own his ass.

I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. She's safe for now.

"I hate to see what you'd be like if you had children, Sir."

Children?! Children... With Ana... I allow my thoughts to drift there for a moment. But, no. I shake my head, not believing I have even entertained such a notion. I would be a terrible father. Will never happen.

"Get on the background check!"

I hang up and fall into my chair. "Fuck!" What the hell is she doing?! I gave her $24,000 to buy a respectable car. Her brand new Audi is sitting at Escala! She has a small fortune of vehicular options at her fingertips and she chooses the bus?! At least she didn't choose the photographer... It's a small victory, but I'll claim it. I would venture to bet she's not eating well, either. I suddenly have a strong palm twitching urge to take her across my knee and it has nothing to do with sexual gratification, hers or mine. Christ that woman is maddening! And so damn beautiful...

My eyes cross my desk and I remember her on the other side. Her soft brown hair tied back from her face. Her long legs; knees peaking out from her skirt and knocking slightly together. What I wouldn't give to see her in front of me, biting that lip. I would lift her from that chair, both hands on her cheeks, pulling her mouth towards mine and bite it for her. In the throws of passion, I would peel that little dress away from her soft alabaster skin and drop it to the floor, licking and nipping every inch of her. My tongue not leaving her delectable neck, I would bend her over my desk, peel her panties down her thighs and we would-

"Fuck!" There's a knock at the door. "What?!" I move to conceal my erection as the door swings open.

Andrea peaks her head through. "Mr. Grey, I have your revised schedule for the week..."

Before I know it she's inside rattling off a list of to-do's per her Monday usual. I lose focus on what she's saying immediately. I don't fucking care. I am now transfixed on the door. All I can see is Anastasia falling through it. Falling onto her hands and knees and looking up at me with those eyes. Those doll blue eyes. All "Yes, Sir" and "No, Sir". Eyes that read my soul and didn't turn away until they were stained crimson and welling with tears caused by me. I cringe.

"Mr. Grey!" Andrea snaps to get my attention.

"What?!"

She jumps.

"I was just reminding you that you have a meeting in the conference room in fifteen minutes."

"Cancel it."

"What?"

"Cancel all my meetings today."

She frowns. "But, Mr. Grey-"

"I said cancel them!" Christ, am I still the boss around here?! "I need to ask you something important. Sit."

"Yes, Sir." She moves toward Anastasia's chair.

"Not there!"

She walks to the sofa, looking to me for approval. I nod. She sits, cautiously. I stand and pace.

"You've had a boyfriend?"

"Excuse me?"

"A boyfriend." What's so hard to understand?

"Yes,"

"He must've fucked up a time or two."

"Oh, I've had quite a few of those."

"Well, think of whichever one fucked up and had to work to apologize the most!"

"Lance?"

"Who?"

"You met him at the Christmas party. We broke up in March and again in April."

Did I even go to the Christmas party? I have no memory of this Lance. Whatever.

"Okay, Lance. Was he romantic?"

"He had his moments." She shifts and crosses her legs. Too much information there.

"Did he send you flowers?"

"No, never." She stiffens. I sense this may be a sore subject. Who the fuck is this Lance character?

"Well, you've been sent flowers before by someone haven't you?!"

"Joe." She gets around, I never knew.

"What did they look like?"

"Lance or Joe?"

"The flowers!" Why is she making this so damn difficult?!

"What exactly are you asking me, Mr. Grey?

I pace, trying to thread my words together in some semblance of coherency, so as not to sound like a complete lovesick fool. But, as the days post Ana drag on, it's getting more and more difficult.

"Andrea, you've known me a long time, right?"

She nods.

"I'm not what you'd consider a warm guy."

She shakes her head.

"You know that I am not a romantic."

"Yes, Sir."

"Hearts and flowers... They're not something I know. I've never wanted to before..."

Before... Before Ana. Was there ever a time? Why does it sound like a damn symphony playing every time I say her name?! I think the lovesick foolery is completely exposed by my goofy grin.

"I want to..."

Andrea watches me as I turn and gaze out my floor to ceiling windows. I take in the panoramic view like I have hundreds and thousands of times before. The skyline sits unchanged. The morning and evening bleed the same hues, but I see their colors vibrantly now because of her. The world, my world is forever changed because she's been in it. It's not a question of want, I need her back. And I will move heaven and earth to show her that I will take her any way she will have me. I will lay my world at her feet, because she is mine.

"Andrea, I need to send flowers to my girlfriend."

The word girlfriend escapes my lips easily. Andrea looks floored. But, sadly Ana's not mine to call that. Not anymore. I fucked up. I need these flowers to say something for me. The man who swore up and down that he didn't do the girlfriend thing and didn't know hearts and flowers is sending her just that and hoping against all hope she will be that to him again.

"Do you want me to order them for you?"

"No," I turn back. "I want to do it myself. Just get the florist in the phone. The best one in Seattle!"

"Yes, Sir. Right away." She gets up to leave and then turns back to me with a grin. "Girls always like roses, Mr. Grey."

I smile.

Roses. Yes. Roses for Miss Anastasia Rose Steele.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Thank you for all the follows and reviews! I appreciate it so much! This chapter is all about the flowers. In the book Ana thinks Christian just had his secretary send them. I wanted to show a complete contradiction. Hope you enjoy! _**

5:57.

My eyes lock on the the numbers lighting the clock on the stove as I pour myself a generous glass of wine. Three minutes until she receives my flowers. Three minutes until she reads my note. The only words from me she's had in three agonizing days. Maybe not agonizing for her, I run a palm damp with nerves through my hair. I must wait. Christ, eternity is quicker than this. I sip, no gulp Chablis. This is most unsettling for me as I wait for no one. No one but Anastasia. Now, waiting for her is all I can do.

I pace back and forth, my soles tapping the glossy tiles of the kitchen floor that catch my head-hung reflection. All the power is in her hands now. I clench a fist then release it, placing the wine down and flattening my palms on the granite countertop that bares my weight. Who the fuck am I kidding, she owned me the instant her blue eyes looked up from the floor of my office and locked with mine.

Mrs. Jones rounds the corner as I grab my wine and move to escape the question-

"Can I make you something to eat?" Every damn hour with this!

"I'm not hungry." My standard line since Ana left. My stomach is so clenched in knots any semblance of food would not find vacancy and spontaneously evacuate.

She frowns. "I'll have dinner for you at 7." An hour. Of course.

I nod dismissively as I dart to my office, close the door and sit behind my desk to bide these next three minutes in solitary.

5:58.

The second hand on my wall clock ticks rhythmically toward the future. At the hour mark I will know. Taylor's keeping watch outside her place. He's to call as soon as they're delivered and in her hands. I hope she likes the flowers I picked. They took more effort to decide on than developing a new industry. I am hypnotized by the clock hands inching forward as my mind drifts back to the afternoon...

"Red says deep, hot, I want in your panties passion," the rotund little man dripping in indeterminable animal print and white loafers declares before me. His cologne enters a room before he does. He snatches a blood red rose from a vase populated with others of its kind and hands it to me. I can't fucking believe this. This is the top florist in Seattle?! Andrea insisted he's well respected. Who would respect a man who wears no socks?! I swear her job is on the line if this doesn't go well. Not leaving something this important to an order placed by phone, I've paid quadruple the rate for this Armando Bastille character to come to my office and lay out options across my desk. The way he keeps fanning his glued on lashes at me I think he wants to lay me across there, too. I swear, if I wasn't ordering flowers for my girlfriend, the rumors of me being gay would be solidified at the water cooler right now. I'm not sure they aren't being.

I push the rose back into his hands.

"I don't want to say anything about panties!" If there's one thing Ana doesn't need reassurance about is that I want to get into hers. I don't need to pound that home. So to speak. "She's a smart girl who is starting a new job. I want to congratulate her. Where are those sort of flowers?"

"I have more colors than the rainbow. Look!" He declares in a sing-song manner, dancing around like a fucking leprechaun. I fear the pot of gold is me. He isn't exaggerating, though. Dozens upon dozens of technicolor roses in coordinating vases line my floor. It's like I got lost in Oz! If you had said a month ago this would be the scene I probably would've punched you in the face. Seeing the stuffed animal add-ons he has body piled in the corner, I'm sure of it. I didn't know roses came in so many hues.

"Is this natural?!" I pinch one that looks like a lemon mated with a tangerine and their offspring was set on fire. He sneers. "We all natural here, Mr. Grey!" He gives his rump a little shimmy. Oh god.

"Why would I ever doubt that." I shake my head and pull my fingers away from the burnished petal tips.

He shows options to me bunch by bunch, plucking them up from his acid trip garden. They all have stripper names like Apricot Bliss, Lavender Tornado and Meadow's Edge Lace..." What the fuck kind of meadow is edged in lace?

"Where are the simple colors like pink?"

"Pink?!" He shakes his head in utter disgust, like I just told him I was murdering puppies for sport. Since when is pink so frowned upon? I thought it was a go-to color. "Oh my god, yes!" He turns, lit with divine inspiration and holds up what I would describe as petals of death. "It's you!"

"It's black! Who the fuck would get black roses?!" There's no way this grows in the wild.

"Midnight Boudoir! It's very avant garde. Says you like the dark side."

Well that is one rose I definitely the fuck don't need!

"This is ridiculous!"

"Well, what do you want your roses to say?!"

"I don't want them to look like an omen!" I pace between the buckets. "Congratulations to a smart young woman, I told you!"

He purses his lips and shakes his head back and forth in a "tisk-tisk" fashion. "I see lots of men buy lots of flowers for lots of girls. None of them drag my whole shop to their office. And they sure as the devil dances on Halloween don't send a woman roses because she's smart."

"Keen observation, Mr. Bastille."

"Armando, please. You and me, we're friends."

"I have no friends, Mr. Bastille." He laughs. I don't. He stops.

"We have to trust each other, Mr. Grey. At least botanically speaking. For me to create for you, we need total honesty!"

I eye him warily. He's like the Flynn of flowers! Flynn would eat this shit up. I'm never telling him. Ever.

"Now, the girl. What is her name?"

I take a deep breath and sit on the corner 's edge of my desk, my left foot narrowly missing the pot of lavender tornados. "Anastasia..." That name again. I fight my goofy grin. Her name makes me feel fourteen.

"Go on..." The bastard is smirking. I must not be winning the fight.

"Well, she's lovely..." I hate that this fucker is staring at me. He notices.

"Close your eyes Mr. Grey. Tell me from your heart."

My heart. Before Ana I didn't think I had one. I told her that in this very spot. She didn't believe me. Oh Ana... I close my eyes. God, I feel like such an ass sitting here. Me, Christian Grey, master of my universe is having a therapy session with a florist in no socks. But, as I start to envision her face the outer world and Mr. Armando Bastille fade away leaving only Ana. Her blue eyes, her flushed cheeks, her chestnut hair that dusts her shoulders... I am in awe of her.

"She's sweet and innocent. Courageous. So bright. She is smart and beautiful..." I get lost in her. Three days and it smarts a thousand. I can still see her teeth wrapped around her full bottom lip in that way that drives me absolutely crazy. Her soft breasts that fit perfectly in my palms. Her shapely calves that cross when she's shy. Her knees that press together when she's angry, but she still wants me... "Beautiful, in fact, is an insult to her. She's just... More."

I feel something in front of my face. I open my eyes to a single white bloom. Armando, who is now in tears, holds it out to me. I take the stem between my fingers and lift it, admiring the chaste beauty and timelessness of this simple white flower.

"This is your rose, Mr. Grey!"

"Yes, Anastasia's." My fingertips trace the edge of a delicate petal. "What's this one called?"

"Bewitching Virgin."

I smile as I twist the stem between my fingers. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

5:59.

The minute hand gains. Two dozen long stem Bewitching Virgins are to be delivered to the virgin who bewitched me at 6pm along with my note. I sat at work for over an hour scribbling and scratching on scraps of paper until the words fell just right. I aimed to match the sincerity of her roses. I hope she sees that.

Congratulations on your first day at work.

I hope it went well.

And thank you for the glider. That was very thoughtful.

It has pride of place on my desk.

Christian

I touch the glider, our glider. Thoughtful describes it well. Even in the pain of those final moments, she thought of me. Of us. No one has ever touched me that way. I know no one else ever will again.

6:00.

The hour strikes. My phone rings. Taylor.

"Did she get them?!" My voice trails up in panic.

"Yes, Sir. They were delivered. She answered. Accepted them. They just left."

"She accepted them? You're sure?"

"I saw her take them with my own eyes."

A twinge of jealousy crawls up my spine. He saw her.

"Was she good?" I'm conflicted with hopes for both yes and no.

"I couldn't say." Why does he sound like he's hiding something?

"You don't sound convinced."

"I only got a quick look." I'm not convinced, but I won't press it.

"Now what?"

"Sit and wait, Sir."

I hang up. More waiting. But, I am hopeful. She's accepted my gift and with Anastasia that's no easy feat. She must've read my note. I expect at any moment my phone will ring. We'll talk. Or maybe she won't want to do it over the phone. I can have Taylor pick her up and bring her to me. I mean, he's already there anyway, but I sure as hell won't tell her that. I'll have him bide his time for twenty minutes or so to make it believable. Mrs. Jones can make us a late dinner. She needs to eat, I'm sure and so do I. I'll open a bottle of Bollinger. We can talk about everything over the meal. But, soon we'll find we can't keep our hands off of each other. I'll put my mouth on hers and my hands will dance across her breasts and slide down her hips. I'll slip off her clothes, the straps of her bra, slide her panties down her thighs and carry her to my bed where I will make love to her all night long. Just as the sun cracks morning we'll sleep, sated and sound. My limbs wrapped around her body, my nose in her hair, dreaming sweet again with her in my arms.

So, I sit waiting for something...

12:09.

Nothing. The dark silence of night encases me. I haven't left my office. I haven't left my chair. My eyes have remained locked on my phone, only fiddling with it every now and again to make sure it's still on and I haven't missed my chance. I haven't. She's hasn't given me one.

Mrs. Jones knocked on my door offering dinner every hour on the hour. I didn't accept. I ordered her to bring me the bottle of wine I started earlier. I've finished it and one more since.

Ana must be asleep by now. The last shred of hope I held onto evaporated at the stroke of midnight. Isn't that what happens in fairy tales?

I stand, the wine hitting me with no food in my stomach. The first rule of drinking, I shake my head. That night I watched her sleep at the Heathman feels a million years gone.

I grab a glass from the bar and fill it with a double shot of scotch. I exit my office and shut the door, leaving the ticking clock behind me. I make my way upstairs and again find myself in the submissive bedroom. I sit on the bed's end. The scotch on my lips, I think only of her.

How could she not even respond? Her wrath would be more welcome than her silence. Is the love she said she felt for me past tense? Has she moved on? Does she no longer care at all? I rub my hand over my eyes. This nightmare is far worse than the ones that haunt my sleep. It never ends.

I throw my head back on the pillow when I hear a buzz. Her blackberry. I jump up and look to the nightstand where I had plugged it in the night before. I lift it and stare at the lit up screen. A text from her mother:

"Ana, why aren't you answering? I figure you're having fun with your boyfriend.

But, call me. I worry, you know."

Her boyfriend?! Panic strikes me. She couldn't have a new one already?! Could she?! I stand up and throw my scotch back. It took her 21 years to lose her virginity, could she work that fast?! I look at her screen again and navigate to her call log for more clues. Four missed calls from her mother and one that predates the break up by a half-day. So, I must be the boyfriend she thinks Ana's having fun with. God, if she only knew... A shot of joy fills me. She doesn't know. Ana hasn't told her! But, Ana and her mother aren't close, so this could mean very little.

I search deeper. I know I'm stalking again, but that's what I do. And she gave the damn thing back to me! Ray called once. Normal. No Kate, but she's still on vacation with my brother. Numbers of no real significance. Then, I see it. My eyes flame with rage. My fists clench. My jaw tightens. Jose. The motherfucking photographer. He's called her eight fucking times!

"Fuck!" I pound my fist into the pillow.

I listen to his messages. He's all "Ana I miss you" and "Ana let's get together" and "Ana let's grab a drink"... Grab a drink?! Why, so he can try to accost her again when she's inebriated?!

I wonder if she's seen him. When she didn't answer, he probably went over there and found her crying. He probably comforted her and convinced her to stay away from me! What if he was there tonight when the roses were delivered?! He probably laughed as he threw them in the trash. He's probably trying to have his way with her as we speak and I'm not there to protect her! I throw my glass down, shattering it. I'm about to go over there to save Ana and probably beat the shit out of the photographer when his last message, time stamped two hours ago, plays.

"Ana, I don't know why you aren't returning my calls, but I wanted to remind you about my show in Portland Thursday."

Portland! Of course! The one she invited me to!

"...I know you said you might want to bring the mogul..."

The mogul?! Who the fuck is that?!

"Christian can come, that's cool..."

It's me! Asshole. Like I'd need his approval.

"Or not..."

That little fucker is still trying to get in her pants!

"But, I really want you there. I miss you. Please tell me you'll be there..."

I press end.

1:17.

Oh, she'll be there, fucker. With me.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thanks for for all the follows/reviews! I'm so happy you are enjoying this POV of Christian! xo**_

My fingers move across the keys of my piano as Bach fills the cavernous great room. Moonlight fights through clouds outside my windows, but is choked by the incoming storm. The power has been lost. It is only me and the music, which keeps me no real company. And it's so dark. It's a darkness you can feel.

My naked shoulders tense with each press of the keys that I find only by touch. I know this piece well. It bleeds from the heart I thought did not exist. And it does not without her. Every note weeps for Ana, who is four nights gone.

I feel her before I hear her.

"Mr. Grey..." Her voice. I hear her voice. She's here, but I can not see her frame. Her words echo and softly float toward me. "Why do you play such sad songs?"

I stop. My chest constricts. I turn and watch her figure, masked by shadows, approach me. I feel that familiar electricity. That pull that magnetizes us; two becoming one. Suddenly, lightning strikes and in the flash I see her face. I see my Ana. As clouds part and the sky begins to dry, moonlight shines down on her like a spotlight from God. She steps closer toward me and I drink in the most glorious sight I have ever known, her, standing in that way she does, wrapped in a cerulean raincoat.

"Ana!" Her name falls from my breath.

"Christian," she whispers and I am owned by her once again.

The lights flicker and return. The power is back and so is she.

I rise from the bench, my gray eyes drink every inch of her in. Her mouth, her hair, her flushed complexion that tells me her want. She is everything and she stands before me. I rush to her, like my next breath depends on her, which it does. I hold her cheeks with my hands to feel that her skin is really her skin. Her lips really her lips. Her eyes really her eyes.

"You came back to me." I say, in utter disbelief, stroking her chin, bringing her lips closer to mine.

"I never left."

"But, you did."

She shakes her head. I'm confused.

"Where have you been hiding?"

"Here."

Her fingers reach for my chest. I grab her wrists to hold her back just before she makes contact with the skin covering my newly found heart.

"Ana, please, no."

"I've already touched it, though."

What is she saying? She's making no sense. No one's touched me there. No one since I was a small boy. I look away, trying to forget those horrors. But, she sees them. She reads my very soul.

"Do you want me to go?"

I turn back to her, my eyes dizzy with fright.

"No, it's the last thing I want! Please don't leave!"

"Don't make me disappear."

Grabbing hold of her wrists, I pull her to me.

"Never! I want you here with me. Forever!"

"Then, you have to let go."

We stand, eye to eye, for what seems a lifetime. A lifetime with her, could I be so lucky? Finally, assured by her stance that she will not run, I gain the courage to release her.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I can never be sorry enough."

I touch her lips with my thumb. She opens her mouth ever so slightly and sucks the tip. Her teeth lightly grazing my skin, I groan. My cock twitches with arousal.

"Help me with my coat, Mr. Grey."

My fingers move to her chest where I slowly unbutton her one by one, releasing her from the weighty fabric until she's no longer sealed inside. My hands skim her breasts as I open her coat and encourage it off of her, letting it drop to the floor, revealing that's she's wearing nothing but her blue lace panties and bra underneath. The ones Taylor got her that night at the Heathman. I admire her form.

"You're underdressed."

"I feel overdressed."

"Do you now?"

My finger traces the lines of her bra. The strap, the right cup, under the left... She gasps when I reach her nipple, circling it as it hardens from my touch.

"But, you came here like this and..." My eyes suddenly open wide and I'm the one who gasps. "Tell me you didn't ride that bus!"

She giggles and nods. Is she mocking me? God, I love to hear her laugh, though.

"Ms. Steele, you know the bus is dangerous and I do not approve."

"Of public transit or me?"

That infectious giggle, it is the end of me.

"Oh, I always approve of you. But, you shouldn't traipse all over the city in your unmentionables."

"Then don't mention it." She doubles over in a full scale laugh attack. She's so fucking adorable, I can't help but smile.

"You're in a rare mood tonight. You knew I'd be mad."

My fingers move slowly down the sides of her waist, stopping at the band of her panties.

"Why's that?"

"You've broken all the rules"

My fingers brush her sex and she tenses.

"Yes, Sir." Christ, what that does to me! My cock stiffens as I inch closer to her.

"You know I have a twitchy palm..." I slide a hand on her backside and stroke her sweet ass, feeling skin through the weave of the delicate fabric.

"I like your twitchy palm."

"Do you now, Miss Steele?" I move behind her, placing my fingers inside of her panties and stroke her clitoris. Her head drops back and my lips and teeth meet her neck. I turn her to face me and move to her mouth, where I devour her. "You are mine," I moan, as I bite her bottom lip.

She leans into my ear and whispers "Are you going to bend me over now?" God, she's sexy.

"Yes." I pull her toward me, hard and bend her over the top of the closed piano.

"Are you going to punish me?" She smiles, looking back at me coyly with a wicked gleam.

I want to say yes, but I quickly shoot back "No." I remember the last time. The punishment. The darkest day of my life.

"Why not?"

"I don't want to hurt you. I never want to."

I move her hair and kiss her neck, my ravenous mouth traveling down the length of her delicious spine. I step out of my pajama bottoms, setting my erection free. My thumbs hook in the sides of her panties and I peel them off her ass, down her thighs, her taut calves until they drop to the floor, discarded. I kiss my way up her legs. When I reach her inner thighs, I move my tongue to her wetness, tasting her and devouring every drop of sweetness. I reach my fingers to her sex and push one, then two inside of her. She's so ready for me.

"I'm going to fuck you now." I stand, place myself at her entrance and thrust inside of her. I still, crying out her name as a prayer. Nothing has ever felt so good as being buried inside of her. She calls out my name in response and moans as I begin to move. The friction we create is mind blowing. This is not sex. This is an offering of worship. I want to worship every inch of her with my body and my soul. Stretching her arms out over the top of the piano, palms down on the wood, I take mine and clasp the back of hers as I hold her, pushing into her over and over again. I inhale her hair, suck her earlobe, claim her neck. So attune with her, I can feel her building around me.

"Ana, come for me!"

And with that, we explode together.

"I love you, Christian," she cries out as I release inside of her.

I bow my head and place it on her back.

"Stop. It isn't right."

"I do, Christian! And you love me."

"It's wrong for someone like me to love someone like you."

She grows so quiet.

"Then, I have to go."

"What?! No!"

Suddenly the power dies again. It's pitch black. Darker than before. Darker than I ever thought possible. I can't see anything and I can't feel her anymore. Agonizing pain shoots through my chest. Each of my scars burns like new. Frantically, I try to find her, reaching for her in the blackest of night, but all I feel beneath me is cold wood that still hums with my sad music.

"Ana!" I cry out. But, she's gone.

I awake in a cold sweat, screaming her name at the top of my lungs. My phone is ringing. Where is it? I feel the buzz. In my pocket. Still half in my dream turned nightmare, I answer.

"Ana?!"

"Sir, is everything okay?"

Fuck. It takes a moment for me to get my bearings. It's Taylor. I shake my drenched brow and fully wake. I'm on the floor in the submissive bathroom, clinging to her bathrobe. How the fuck did I get here?!

"Uh, yes. Taylor. I thought I saw it was Ana."

"Yes, Sir." He talks slowly, like he's trying to stop me from jumping off a ledge.

"Why are you calling at this ungodly hour?!"

"It's ten after eight, Sir."

Fuck! I've overslept! I look down at my pants. I'm still dressed from yesterday. And, I've had a wet dream, too. I am a mess and I am officially 14 again, late for home room. .

"Well?" He's always dragging things out in suspense. I think he does it to fuck with me.

"Leila has been spotted."

I stand and start to pace.

"Where?!"

"Outside Escala last night."

"Are you sure?"

"I have it on surveillance. But, she left quickly. Before anyone could get to her. I'd keep your eyes and ears open."

"Right. Where are you right now? Are you you watching after Anastasia?!"

"At the bus stop, as you instructed."

"Good! Keep her safe! I want a full report!"

I hang up and look down at my pants. That was one hot dream, until its end. God, it felt so real. Like I was really making love to her. And then she left... If she ever comes back, I can not suffer the pain of her walking out on me again. I want her to be with me forever. What am I saying?! I sound like I want to marry her. Why doesn't it sound like such a bad idea? I run a hand through my hair. As Flynn says I need to crawl before I walk. I want to run into the future with her. It's a feeling I've never known and it's exhilarating. But, I also know I'm a monster who could never love her right. I have a strong desire now to crawl back into bed and dream of her again. But, I must get a move on. Today I will contact her about taking her to that boy's show.

Her blackberry buzzes on the vanity. I run to it and look at the screen. Speak of the devil. Fucking Jose! He never quits! I had no idea he called her this much. I will speak to her about this! If she ever speaks to me again... I'm beside myself and I can't resist. I pick it up.

"Hello?"

Silence, but I can hear the fucker breathing. "Uh, I think I dialed the wrong number-"

"Who are you looking for?" I know damn well who.

"Ana-"

"This is her number."

"Who's this?"

"Her boyfriend." Squirm fucker!

"Christian?" He says it with a taste of bad medicine. Good, he knows.

"Yes... Who's this?"

"It's Jose."

I feign surprise.

"Jose, her friend, the photographer?" My emphasis heavy on friend.

"Yeah... Why are you answering her phone?" He sounds accusatory. Good, I'm getting to him.

"She's still asleep. In my bed. We had a very busy night."

"Oh... " a long bitter pause. The kind you can taste. "Doesn't she have work?"

Fuck him with the questions. If he's so damn concerned about her why did he try to have his way with her when she was drunk and then leave her throwing her guts up in a flower bed with practically a complete stranger?! Thank God he did!

"Do you want something, Mr. Rodriguez?"

"I would rather talk to her." I bet he would.

"I'll take a message." And you take a hint.

He pauses for a moment.

"I wanted to remind her about my show-"

"Yes, we'll be there."

"You're coming, too?" He sounds like I deflated his balloon animal or his dick. Whichever is which. I'm sure they're interchangeable.

"That's what boyfriends do. They accompany girlfriends to see their friend's shows. I figure we'll make a night of it. You know, before we come back here, to my place, to spend the night... Again."

"Yeah, well... Just tell her to call me."

Click. Fucker hung up on me. Still trying to get in her pants. I feel a twinge sorry for him. I know how it feels to lose her. But, she was never his to lose. She was mine. I look at the empty bed. God, I wish it was true and she was still asleep next to me.

Time to shower and dress. I need to get to work.

"Dear Anastasia

"Forgive this intrusion at work. I hope that it's going well. Did you get my flowers?"

I look at the words on my laptop screen, sitting at my desk at work. I know she got them, but I have to play it cool. I am not used to this. I want to sound professional, like I'm not pushing too hard, but I also want her to know I care. I fly through business correspondence all the time. Why are these few lines so difficult? Because they're so much more important, I guess. So much more...

Andrea buzzes me. I answer, pissed by her disturbance.

"What?!"

"The men from GBA Tele-Global are here."

"Tell them to wait."

"You've canceled on them twice. Last month and yesterday. Both at the very last minute." Both because of Anastasia.

"Give me two minutes! I'm finishing something more important!"

I hang up and continue to type, un-rushed and un-fazed.

"I note that tomorrow is the gallery opening for your friend's show..."

Fucking Jose.

"I'm sure you've not had time to purchase a car,..."

Because you've been riding the fucking bus and playing with your life! But, I'm letting that one slide here.

"...and it's a long drive. I would be more than happy to take you—should you wish."

There. I read and re-read it about a dozen more times. Two minutes becomes twenty and Andrea is in constant buzz mode. I ignore her until I am satisfied that I can do no better in my note to Ana. I sign my name and press send.

Finally, I answer Andrea's buzz.

"All right! Send them in." This shouldn't take long. It'll keep my mind off of Anastasia. It'll probably take her all day to respond, if ever. Christ, she's got me tied up in knots. I so wish she was the one I had tied up in knots. I shake my head. Get to work, Grey!

The men come in. Mundane chit chat about a telecommunications company in South Korea. I'm about to make a presentation when I hear the ding-ding sound and everything in my world stops.

"Is something wrong Mr. Grey?" One of the men asks.

"Uh..." I haven't moved. It could be anyone, right? It's only been ten minutes. I'm a professional. I should continue on with my work-

"Excuse me!"

I run to my computer and pull up the screen. It's from her! My heart races as I open her email and read her words.

"Hi Christian

Thank you for the flowers; they are lovely.

Yes, I would appreciate a lift.

Thank you.

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP"

"She said yes," I say giddily to myself, or so I thought I did.

"Good news, Grey?" Another of the men questions me.

Yes! The best!

"Just business..." I play it off.

"Good, then let's continue."

"Yes..." I move to my charts and graphs of statistics I couldn't give a fuck about right now. But, as a businessman I must put aside my personal life and work-

"Excuse me, gentlemen. I need to use the restroom." I grab my laptop.

"With your laptop?" One man asks.

"I don't want to miss anything..." They're staring. "With work."

I race to the side door, seal myself in my private bathroom, sit on the toilet and open my my computer to type my response. I'm so nervous I can barely control my fingers on the keys. I give this next emaildeep thought...

"Dear Anastasia

What time should I pick you up?"

Doesn't that sound right? Does it say everything I need to say? After a few reads, I'm fairly confident. Send. I flush the toilet, pretending I have a purpose other than my love life in the stall. I'm about to get up when I hear another ding-ding. It's quickly becoming my favorite sound in the world.

She writes...

"José's show starts at 7:30. What time would you suggest?"

Come over now! No, I can't say that. As I think, I flush again, feigning activity. I can hear them outside whispering amongst themselves.

I reply...

"Dear Anastasia

Portland is some distance away. I shall pick you up at 5:45.

I look forward to seeing you."

I press send. Now, I wait for her to confirm the date. Date?! Could this actually be happening?! I've never wanted something so bad in my life. I flush again.

"Everything all right in there?" One of the men yells out.

"Bad fish!" I yell back. Fuck, Grey! You could've come up with something better than that.

Ding-Ding!

She responds simply...

"See you then."

It's confirmed! Tomorrow I'm going to see Miss Anastasia Steele. I have never been happier than I am in this moment, sitting on this toilet, knowing that I have one more chance with this beautiful, awe-inspiring sexy as all hell woman who has captivated me completely since I first laid eyes on her.

But, I need to lose my foolish grin for the moment. I have to face a room full of businessmen who think I've had bad fish.


	6. Chapter 6

I slept with Coldplay last night in the submissive bedroom. "Let's go back to the start" played on Anastasia's new iPad, my gift to her tonight, as I finally drifted off in utter exhaustion. I spent well into the wee hours of morning listening to countless artists and albums. Practically pulling my hair out trying to pick an arrangement of songs that would voice to her what I couldn't with my own. It proved difficult, because what she makes me feel is impossible to bottle. But, I did my best. For her. For me. For us. My dreams that night played vivid. Echoes of our start and our end haunted my slumber.

_Come up to meet you. Tell you I'm sorry. You don't know how lovely you are..._

The lyrics swam deep in my subconscious.

"I'm Anastasia Steele," she said, that first day on her knees at my office door. How lovely she was. Her blue eyes piercing me as the letters spilled from her tongue. I did not hear her name, I felt it. I held my hand out to her and she trustingly took it. Hers was so small, gentle. Mine, barbaric in comparison. The electricity between us pulsated as our palms joined and I pulled her to her feet. She stood dangerously close. Her breath hitched as my grip loosened and my fingers stretched away, lingering a fraction longer than was necessary. Her skin was like spun silk and her fingers the color of sweet cream. I wanted to taste each one.

_Questions of science, science and progress don't speak as loud as my heart..._

"There are some people who say I don't have a heart," I insisted, when she sat in front of me, asking me those questions from her little paper.

Her eyes embraced me. Not as a lover, but as a mother or a saint.

"Why would they say that?" She almost seemed angry. Not at me, but at whomever would make me believe such a thing.

"They know me well..." I shot back, guarding and shaking behind my walls, all the while her gaze was crumbling them. The ruins tumbling around me at a rapid pace. There was nowhere to hide

"Why do I get the feeling that that is not true."

She watched me. No, she saw me. And to really be seen is something.

_Nobody said it was easy, it's such a shame for us to part..._

I walked her to the elevator after every effort to keep her failed. The doors opened abruptly and that song spilled out as she stepped inside.

_Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard..._

"Anastasia." I bid her farewell. I held my hand out, but she was too far to reach now.

"Christian." My name a sweet virgin on her tongue.

The doors closed fast. My own building betraying me as it moved to take her away. All at once, that was the end of me and the beginning.

_Take me back to the start... _

"I need you to be completely honest with me." I stand bare chested in suit pants, in my office at Grey House.

"I always endeavor to be, Sir." Taylor, facing me, fully clothed of course, looks earnest, serious. A man I know I can trust.

Which one?" I hold up two long sleeved dress shirts for his assessment.

"They're the same shirt."

"How?" I scoff.

"They're both white."

"Nonsense! One is faded ivory and the other is quite sportier."

"If you say say so, Mr. Grey." Is he mocking me?!

"Now, I've worn the one on the right once before with Anastasia and she remarked that I looked "cute". I foolishly grin, recalling.

Taylor twists his mouth trying to conceal a smirk. I cut my eyes to him. He clears his throat and the tone returns to all seriousness.

"But, I want to make the subtle impression that I'm a new man, so maybe the left. Something she's never seen before. It's not too much is it with the slimline cut at the waist?"

"It'll broaden your shoulders and your chances, Sir," he says with wry amusement. Since when did he become a fucking comedian?!

"Yes, well the left it is." I slip it on and tuck it into my pants. I'm wearing the gray suit I wore to her graduation, sans our favorite tie. No tie at all. Open collar to show that I'm open to things like change and rule breaking. Also, I don't want her to be fearfully preoccupied with the notion I might turn into a mad man and tie her up at any moment to have my way with her. God, the thought is so exhilarating. But, no, not yet. I need to get through tonight and win her back.

"We'll need to get going right away." I look at my watch, the seconds ticking on.

"We're not due for over an hour and fifteen minutes, Sir."

"Your point?"

"It's ten minutes away."

"Without the four car pileup."

"There's a pileup?"

"There could be! Do I look like a man willing to take that risk?"

"No, Sir."

I dart into my adjoining bathroom and splash on some aftershave I just had blended for me especially for this night. It has rose water in it, which oozes sensitivity and romantic notions or so the perfumer says. Anyway, she guaranteed me Anastasia will notice. I look in the mirror and see a man nervous, anxious, cautiously hopeful. I see a man I have never seen before.

"Is Charlie Tango on standby?" I ask, exiting the bathroom.

"Yes, Sir."

He sniffs the air surrounding me. "Did you buy her more flowers, Mr. Grey?"

I give him a fuck off look. He nods.

"What time will you be returning, Sir?"

"We'll need you to drive us back. I'd like more private time with Miss Steele to talk." We need to talk and talk we will. But, God do I want to fuck her. Five days without touching her. It's like I've been stranded in the damn Sahara. I only fucked my subs on weekends and it never bothered me this much. It's true, Anastasia could never be my sub. I find it impossible to even go a few hours without wanting to bury myself inside of her. Hours, no minutes. Fuck, I'm getting hard right now just thinking about her. I adjust myself discretely. No, I'm not going to have sex with her tonight. No matter what. We need to establish new parameters. She needs to tell me what she wants. I'm not risking her leaving me again. "Take the long way home. I want as much time with her as possible. And wear your headphones, I don't want your burning ears making her uncomfortable."

"Yes, Mr. Grey."

"Okay, I'm ready." I've never been so ready for anything in my life. Or more terrified... I move toward the door, then stop in my tracks, panicked. "I almost forgot." I go to my desk and grab the wrapped package sitting at the corner. "Her gift." I smile and then we're off.

It's half past five. There was no four car pileup, so we've been parked in front of SIP for a torturous fifty-two minutes. Every time the doors to the building open, my heart stops, thinking that it might be her. My cuticles are bitten. My handkerchief soaked from wiping my brow. I'm surprised my hair is still attached to my head. I'm a mess and she's not even here yet.

I run my hands through my hair again and again. "Stay calm, Grey," I whisper to myself. There's a whole evening ahead. I close my eyes and decide to meditate, but then I realize I don't even fucking know how and I get more flustered than I already was.

I feel her before I see her. Magnetized, my head turns and she's there, stepping forward as the glass doors open like the gates of heaven. Heaven in a sweaty rush hour. I only get a glimpse of her before she's swallowed by early evening shadows and throngs of worker ants escaping captivity.

"Taylor! She's coming! Get her, for Christ's sake!" My too loud voice cracks like a pubescent teen. A deep fear hangs that she may walk right past me. That she's forgotten we were even meeting. That the photographer's picking her up instead!

Taylor steps quickly out of the car and walks to the other side, opening her door. I peek out and my eyes catch briefly on her chestnut hair as she flips it off her shoulders. A second later she's cut off by a man with a briefcase and a bad toupee talking like a jackass on his flip phone. What man of any worth has a flip phone?! She nearly trips over his Sasquatch feet. Just before I bolt from the car to beat the shit out of him, I see her and all thoughts are lost. Her eyes, her lips, her gorgeous face and... "Oh my god." I gasp audibly as she comes fully into my view. She's a skeleton!

Taylor ushers her in and she climbs into the back seat next to me. I know I should greet her warmly in some way, like I rehearsed all morning in my mirror, but I can't think of anything but her starvation.

"When did you last eat?" I snap as Taylor closes the door behind her.

"Hello, Christian. Yes, it's nice to see you, too."

"I don't want your smart mouth now. Answer me."

"Um … I had a yogurt at lunchtime. Oh—and a banana." A banana?! Is she fucking kidding me!

"A banana is not food!"

"Actually it is." She smirks. "Monkeys think so, too." She thinks this is funny?! My palm is twitching.

"When did you last have a real meal?"

Taylor slips into the driver's seat, starts the car, and pulls out into the traffic. She looks out the window and I notice some obnoxious man in tweed waving at her. Much to my horror, she waves back!

"Who's that?" I snap. He's still fucking waving, like he's sending her off to war or on a cruise. Why all this god damn waving?!

"My boss." She lowers her hand and cuts her eyes to me, measuring my expression. It turns grim.

Fucking Jack Hyde. That's what the prick looks like. I make a mental note to have him killed, but first...

"Well? Your last meal?"

"Christian, that really is none of your concern."

She stabs me with that. My heart sinks with me into the seat.

"Whatever you do concerns me."

"No, it doesn't." She groans in frustration and rolls those beautiful, bewitching, gloriously disobedient eyes. My cock twitches in response. Those five long days are taking their toll and I've only been with her five minutes.

She stares at me and I at her, in an ocular stand off. Until she breaks and giggles. All of my defenses disarmed at once by the sweet sound.

"Well?" I try fight my lips as they turn up into a half smile in response.

"Pasta alla vongole, last Friday."

Oh.

My smile drops. I close my eyes, in fury and regret. Our last meal together. Another reminder that I am the cause of all of her pain. I open my eyes and she's looking at me, waiting for a response. "I see," is all I can voice. "You look like you've lost at least five pounds, possibly more since then. Please eat, Anastasia."

The silence between us hangs heavy. She stares down, playing with her fingers all twisted in a ball. She looks sad and I feel helpless.

If she were my submissive, this is the point I would punish her. I would drag her to the playroom and inflict pain on her to make sure she never does anything like this again. But, she is not and that is not an option now or ever. And I don't want to hurt her. I've done that and it's the last thing on earth I ever want to do again. This banquet of feelings I've been served is like nothing I've tasted.

I shift and turn to her. "How are you?" I ask, desperately wanting and not wanting to know all at once.

"Well, I'm shit, really..." She swallows, her lip fighting a quiver. "If I told you I was fine, I'd be lying."

I search for breath. "Me, too."

I need to touch her. I don't know if she wants me to, but I have to take the chance in the belief that she does. So, I reach over and clasp her hand. "I miss you." Those three simple words say everything.

Her fingers lock under my touch.

"Christian, I—" Tears pool in her deep set eyes.

"Ana, please. We need to talk." My chest heavies as I stroke my thumb across her knuckles in a soothing pattern, trying in some way to quell the pain I have caused her.

"Christian, I … please … I've cried so much," she whispers, in one last valiant effort to keep her tears from spilling.

"You've cried for me?" I ask almost in disbelief.

She nods and her fight is lost as tears swim down her cheeks.

"Oh, baby, no." I wipe her face with my free hand and tuck a piece of her soft hair behind her ear. She is everything and she is here with me now. On impulse, I tug the hand that I am holding and pull her to my lap. I wrap my arms around her, and bury my nose is in her hair. "I've missed you so much, Anastasia." I breathe her in. Her sweet smell, intoxicating.

She tenses and panic rises in me. Fearful she may run, I pull her closer and wrap my arms tighter around her. I won't let her go again. I press her to my chest, well aware she's in the danger zone, but I need her to be there. After a few moments her tensing eases and she rests against me. I kiss her hair repeatedly in both an offer of prayer and thanksgiving. There will never be anyone else. I have never been more sure of anything.

She looks up at me, her nose tickling my chin, sending shivers up my spine.

"You smell like roses."

I smile down at her.

"I've taken up gardening..."

"It becomes you."

She giggles again through sniffling tears and I am lost to her.

A few minutes later Taylor pulls to a stop at the curb.

"Come"—I lift her from my lap—"we're here."

"What?" She looks up at me with those ever curious eyes, now reddened and shadowed.

"Helipad—on the top of this building." I look toward the building by way of explanation.

"We're taking Charlie Tango?" I nod. She lights with excitement and it lifts me.

Taylor opens her door and she slides out. He gives her a warm smile and she returns it. What the fuck is this about? Why is there so much warmth between them?!

"I should give you back your handkerchief." She says to him sweetly. Too sweetly for my taste. Nothing good can come of warm and sweet.

"Keep it, Miss Steele, with my best wishes."

Best wishes?! Since when does Taylor sound like a fucking greeting card?! I assume he gave it to her after she left me, crying and he drove her home. Oh, I'll make sure he gets his handkerchief back. She already has mine and that's all she needs. I will not entertain competing handkerchiefs!

I make my way around the car as quickly as possible and take her hand before any more warmth or handkerchiefs can be exchanged. I give Taylor a look that says we'l talk about this later. He doesn't react. The son of a bitch knows I can't function without him.

"Nine?" I say to him, my tone clipped.

"Yes, sir."

I nod and turn leading Ana through the double doors and into the foyer. My fingers curl around hers and I feel that electricity light our palms, just as I felt it that first day.

Reaching the elevators, I press the call button. She cuts her eyes up to me, but then looks away quickly. Her expression unreadable. Is she flirting? Do I have something hideous growing from my chin? Has the rose water caused an allergic reaction?! Or maybe she's contemplating how to tell me goodbye once she reaches the photographer. My stomach free falls. I shake my head, not willing to entertain a thought so grim. As the doors open, I release her hand and usher her in. God, her ass looks amazing in that dress. And those boots. Is she literally trying to kill me?! I bite my own lip as I adjust myself.

The doors close and we are alone, side by side, much like that fated day at the Heathman when I lost all control and kissed her. She never did sign that paperwork. I smile, remembering that I did say to fuck it. She gives me a second peek, looking up at me through her long lashes. Why is she eyeing me so coyly? I shift to face her and it's there in the air between us. That pull. That fire. That intense magnetism drawing us together.

"Oh my," she gasps and I know what she's thinking.

"I feel it, too." It's visceral. It's primal. It's us.

She shifts from one foot to the other, her thighs pressing together. It delights me to see color back in her cheeks. She opens her mouth slightly and her front teeth move to press down.

"Please don't bite your lip, Anastasia," I whisper. It takes all manner of control not to bite it myself. I want so badly to throw her against the wall, consume her mouth and fuck her right here in this elevator. God, I have never wanted something as badly as her.

She gazes up at me, releasing her lip. The flush in her cheeks, her altered breathing, tell me she wants me, too. And suddenly I am finding a wicked delight in delaying her gratification.

"This should keep you in your place," I murmur as I finish strapping her to her seat. "I must say I like this harness on you." She flushes crimson and I know I'm getting to her. I run my index finger down her cheek and her lips part. God, I want her to suck it, but not now. I deny her again, removing my touch from her skin and she scowls. She struggles against restrains and I wolfishly grin.

"Are you enjoying this? She asks, an eyebrow shooting up.

"I love to fly with you, among other things." I smirk as I hand her her headphones. Like a good girl, she puts on her cans as I make my way to my seat, buckle myself in and ready us for take-off. I turn to her. "Ready, baby?"

"Yes."

I grin, happier than I've been in a long while with her by my side.

"Sea-Tac tower, this is Charlie Tango Golf—Golf Echo Hotel, cleared for takeoff to Portland via PDX. Please confirm, over."

"Roger, tower, Charlie Tango set, over and out." I flip two switches, grasp the stick, and the helicopter rises slowly. Anastasia looks out the window mesmerized by the shrinking city below. I'm just mesmerized by her.

"We've chased the dawn, Anastasia, now the dusk." Her eyes look up at me and she takes a breath. "As well as the evening sun, there's more to see this time."

The view is clear and spectacular tonight. The light dancing lightly on the landscape and radiating across her hair.

"Escala's over there." I point toward home. "Boeing there, and you can just see the Space Needle."

She looks over. "I've never been."

"I'll take you—we can eat there."

"Christian, we broke up." She says, spilling salt in the fresh wound.

"I know. I can still take you there and feed you." I glare at her protruding collar bone. Surprisingly she doesn't argue. Her smart mouth must be charging for later.

"Impressive, isn't it?" I motion downward to all that is beneath us as we soar higher.

"Impressive that you can do this." I grin. There is no greater stroke to my ego than impressing her.

"Flattery from you, Miss Steele? But I'm a man of many talents."

"I'm fully aware of that, Mr. Grey."

She's flirting with me! She agrees that I have many talents. I wonder which she's referring to. What does it matter, she's flirting with me! God I want to fuck that dirty little mouth. And I think she wants that, too. But, maybe she's just teasing me. Play it cool! Stop thinking about your dick and make conversation, Grey!

"How's the new job?"

"Good, thank you. Interesting." Interesting? Nothing about being an assistant is interesting! This is highly suspicious...

"What's your boss like?" That waving fucker, Hyde. I'm reminded of the mental note I made to kill him earlier. I add dismemberment to the to-do list.

"Oh, he's okay." Why does she sound so strange? Elusive even. What isn't she telling me?! I swear if that fucker laid one hand on her!

"What's wrong?" I ask, brusquely.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Obvious?" About Jack Hyde?! Oh fuck, is she trying to tell me she's interested in him?! My world is shattering. I can't believe I haven't crashed us. I feel like I'm falling out of the sky!

"Oh, Christian, you really are very obtuse sometimes."

"Obtuse? Me? I'm not sure I appreciate your tone, Miss Steele."

"Well, don't, then." She hisses. Meow!

My lips shoot up into a smile. "I have missed your smart mouth, Anastasia." I so have.

She gasps and looks like she wants to say something, but turns away from me and watches the show beneath us instead.

We reach Portland and I move to land.

"Good trip, Miss Steele?" I ask, wishing for a soft reply.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Grey."

I touch down. She removes her headphones and I unbuckle her.

"You know I like it when you call me Christian."

"Isn't that against the rules?"

"Rules are made to be broken. I think you taught me that, Miss Steele."

She smiles, quizzically. I smile back, giving nothing away.

I free myself from my harnesses.

"Well, let's go see the boy's photos."

I reach out my hand to her and she takes it. I pull her up and out of the helicopter and we move hand in hand into the warm summer evening.

And, all at once, here we are, back at the start...


	7. Chapter 7

_**Thank you so much for all the reviews/follows/favs! I'm enjoying writing and I'm happy you are enjoying reading! I'm following the book, but taking some liberties with dialogue/set up. No, Jose and Ana will never have a thing. It's all in Christian's paranoid head. Enjoy! xo**_

"The elevator's broken, we'll have to take the stairs," I say, holding tight to her hand as we walk from the helipad into the building, fearing she may slip free from me and I will lose her again.

"What is it about elevators, Mr. Grey?" She looks up through lashes that both tempt and tame me. We each flirt a grin as our eyes catch briefly.

Her stiletto heels kiss the cold marble of the grandiose foyer as we head to the stairwell slipped in the corner of the great room. Those boots. I have to bite my own lip in response to them. I begrudgingly untangle my fingers from hers, freeing her momentarily to open the exit door and usher her through.

She brushes past me softly and every part of me is commanded to her attention. I follow behind as we proceed downward toward the street and our waiting car. I watch as her feet clap each grated step, one by one in an achingly seductive rhythm. Her hips moving up and down, side to side, with the paces of a goddess or a temptress. She is both. The leather of her tall boots skims her calves, just teasing the bottom edge of her thighs. I am hypnotized and I can see nothing else.

She stumbles. Her heel catching on a grate, her bird-like ankle twists and she's falling forward as I launch to grab her back. My only thought is to keep her from harm. I would do anything to ensure this. Laying my own life down would not be too high a cost. We fall back against the wall and I pull her into an embrace, holding her there, close to me, for what I wish would be a lifetime, but is only a fractured moment.

"Are you, okay?" I move my hands to her face and give her a thorough look.

"Yes, now I am. Thank you, Christian."

I touch her soft lip with my thumb.

"Good thing for you it's only three more floors, in those heels." I look down to her feet and shake my head.

She shifts her body slightly against me and I feel it in my groin. I sharply inhale as her mouth inches closer to mine and her breath heats my lips.

"Don't you like them?" She kicks up a heel and looks back at it, playfully. Her chestnut locks sweeping across her shoulders.

"Oh, I like them very much." The tension building inside me, I move my hands along her hips, down her legs, kneeling before her as my fingers reach the tucks of her boots. "But, maybe you should take them off..." I unzip one, ever so slowly. She gasps. "For safety purposes of course."

"Safety first." She sounds so militant and obedient, even with that infectious giggle bubbling up.

"I thought you said you weren't a Girl Scout." I smile wickedly as I slowly put my lips to her thigh. My tongue moving down her leg as I peel the animal skin from hers. I pull the spiked heel off, followed by her sock and discard them, letting them tumble down a flight. My teeth run along her exposed arch and I nibble her toes. A moan trips from her throat.

"I told you, I'm into more singular minded activities." She says, playfully mocking my words.

"Oh, Miss Steele, you are ever surprising." I move to the other boot and repeat the same frustratingly delicious process, until both feet are naked against the hard floor. She catches her breath through slightly parted lips. I can feel the intensity building. I move my mouth, my tongue, thirsty for her skin, up her inner thighs as I hold her hips firmly and pull myself up her body. My hands on the hem of her dress, I lift it so it's no longer covering her bottom half.

"What are you doing?" She pants as I worship her neck.

"What do you want me to do?" I whisper in her ear and then bite her lobe. She winces. My hand reaches down in her panties and I play with her. She's dripping for me.

She gasps and brazenly reaches her hands down to my erection, stroking it through the fabric of my pants. I moan and harden under her touch. Then, she unbuckles and unzips me until I am free.

"I want you to fuck me. Hard." She whispers back.

Oh, Miss Steele, you steal all my best lines." I smile, wolfishly.

I grab her wrists and pin them above her head, forcing her into the concrete wall. I put my mouth to hers and our tongues find each other. I free a hand and slide her panties to the side. With one powerful thrust I bury myself inside her and-

"Christian? Christian, are you okay?"

Like ice water dumped on my balls, I'm brought back into realty.

"What?" I ask, confused. She's still in my arms. Still in her boots. Damn!

"Where'd you go?"

"My mind just wandered off." I shake my head.

"Thank you for saving me."

I smile and brush her hair back from her face, tucking a stray piece behind the sweetest ear I've ever seen. I release her and we straighten ourselves. She notices my erection and gives me a pursed lip smile. I look down to her feet and point at the culprits.

"Those boots should be registered as lethal weapons." I mutter, in all seriousness.

"Don't you like them?" She teases.

"Oh no, don't start with that Miss Steele or we'll be in this stairwell all night."

She gives me the most mischievous grin as we head for the door and exit to the street.

The car ride is quiet. I watch her as she looks out the window, the lights of the city reflecting across her face as we move through the night. I'm remembering that first night I took her up in my helicopter. I could never imagine we'd be in this place now. I could never imagine that I would want what I now want. Her. Simply.

"It's a lover's moon tonight," our driver smiles as he points to the low hung full moon illuminating the sky. If only.

"It's stunning," she says, looking back at me." Like her.

"Those beautiful eyes look too large on your face, Anastasia. Please tell me you'll eat."

"Yes, Christian, I'll eat," I know this annoys her, but I don't care. It pains me to see her not well.

"I want you back and I want you healthy."

She turns to me, a myriad of emotions crossing her furrowed brow.

"But, nothing's changed." She sighs and looks down to her hands, chipping at the polish on one thumb with the other.

Everything's changed. But, now is not the time or place for this discussion.

"Let's talk on the way back. We're here."

The car pulls up in front of the gallery and I climb out and open the car door for her.

"Why do you do that?" She snaps as I take her hand and help her out.

"Do what?"

"Say something like that and then just stop?"

"Anastasia, we're here. Where you want to be. Let's do this and then talk. I don't particularly want a scene in the street." And the last thing I want is the photographer to see us fighting and smell fresh blood for the strike

"Okay," she softens and we move to the doors.

I can picture no circle lower in hell than an entire night dedicated to glorifying the photographer. But, for Ana, I willingly stand in its pit. We make our way into an old warehouse that's been painted moody colors like black, off black and an aggressive avocado green to make it "hipster" or some shit, but it looks more like a place you'd store yard tools or old couches. In fact there's a couple, both in black rimmed eyeglasses and flannel shirts making out on an old couch to our left. Lucky bastard.

"Please try and enjoy yourself." Ana says. My hand dusting her back as I lead her forward into the abyss.

"I'm tying my dancing shoes as we speak, Miss Steele." She cuts her eyes to me.

"Good evening and welcome to José Rodriguez's show." Some woman with a man's haircut and red lipstick that a prostitute would envy greets us with brochures singing the praises of the photographer. Holy fucking Jose! You'd think he was the second coming of Ansel Adams! What an arrogant son of a bitch. His stupid grinning photo takes up half the cover and continues inside like a centerfold pinup sans nudity. I wonder if he took it himself. I shake my head. Bastard. I look up from the propaganda surprised to see Ana shooting Hooker Lips a death glare. What's this all about?! What did I miss while I had my head in Jose's bullshit? I turn and see Hooker Lips isn't looking at Ana, but rather giving me the once over. Oh please! Is Ana actually jealous of her?! Is she? Is she... The right side of my mouth shoots up in a satisfied grin.

"Wait!" Hooker Lips turns to Ana excitedly, like she's just found some marijuana she thought she had already smoked. "You're Ana Steele! We'll want your take on all this." She points us in. Who the fuck is we?!

"You know her?" I say with a frown as we walk.

She shakes her head "no". Fishy. Has Jose been talking to people about Ana?! He probably told them to keep on the look out for "his girl". Probably to piss me off after our little phone call. That fucker will stop at nothing!

"What would you like to drink?" I snap. Torturous thoughts of the photographer claiming my Ana as his own bulldozing my sanity.

"I'll have a glass of white wine, thank you." She gives me a look telling me to behave. I give her a look back warning the same thing.

I'm about to say something about the little run in, but I bite my tongue. The night is young and I don't want it spoiled by Hooker Lips or Jose's misplaced testosterone.

Ana looks over some pictures he took of random trees as I make my way over to the bar, which is a table, probably on loan from the photographer's mother's mother's mother's kitchen, covered in cheap wine bottles and manned by a boy who doesn't look old enough to drink. He has one of those sticker name tags that reads "Hello my name is Jimm" with two m's.

"What'll you have? It's all free tonight, so no worries."

I cut my eyes to him.

"I was holding my breath, Jim."

"It's Jimm," he corrects me, in all seriousness, humming the double m sound at the end of his name.

Where the fuck am I?! Oh, I forgot. Hell!

"What are the selections this evening?"

"Of what?" His mouth hangs open, dumb-like.

"Drinks. Choices. You're the bartender, correct?"

"Right... Red, white or water."

Of course.

He leans in conspiratorially. "If you want rose, I can put a splash of red in the white for you. Bartender's tricks."

"Genius." I grimace. "Two whites, no tricks."

He moves to open a fresh $4 bottle and I take in the surroundings. This whole fucking garage is plastered with Jose's name. It's like he's running for Congress and the votes have come in. Two girls giggle next to me about how hot he is. I nearly spit up the Brazil nut I just popped in my mouth from the communal dish. When I can not stand to see or hear Jose's name any longer, I turn and see his face in the flesh. With Ana!

"Give me my damn wine, Jim!" And I don't hum the mm's, which pisses him off, I'm sure.

Ana looks back and sees me watching. Our eyes lock and instantly connect. That familiar electric force binds us like we are the only two people who exist. Jose says something to her and she turns back to him. I grab the glasses and fly over, not letting my eyes move from her. Elbows knocking me and wine splashing, I fight my way through the growing crowd of derelicts. Just before I reach them Jose is pulled away by some bullshit local reporter and I am back in my rightful place at Ana's side. I hand her a glass.

"It's half spilt." She notices.

"So many elbows," I mutter and shrug as way of explanation. "Don't worry I can get you more, it's free."

She gives a "not funny" look.

"Does it come up to scratch?"

I look at her quizzically.

"The wine."

"No. Rarely does at these kind of events. The boy's quite talented, isn't he?" If you like pictures of trees and an occasional rock.

"Why else do you think I asked him to take your portrait?" I think that's a compliment.

My eyes shift from the photographs to her. I'm shot back in time to that day and our coffee date. I remember how uncharacteristically nervous I was to ask her. I practiced in my shower, in my mirror, with Taylor the entire morning. I was so afraid she'd say no and it would be done. But, when I had her there and saw how truly special she was, like a fool I pushed her away. I told her I didn't do the girlfriend thing. To steer clear of me. God, if she'd agree to be mine again I would do back flips across this gallery and buy her an island that we could run away to and make love on the sand all day and night. I brush my finger to her face, her lips. She closes her eyes. I want to tell her-

"Christian Grey?" Some shit photographer from the Portland Printz approaches me, breaking our moment. "Can I have a picture, sir?" Any paper that spells Printz with a z is questionable.

"Sure."I scowl. Ana steps back, but I grab her hand and pull her close to my side. This local photographer looks at both of us like he just hit pay-dirt. Christian Grey with his arm around a beautiful woman. Yeah, that'll sell. I make a mental note to have Taylor visit news stands at dawn, the second they're off the trucks, to buy fresh copies.

"Mr. Grey, thank you." He snaps a couple of photos. "Miss …?"

"Ana Steele," she replies and he jots it down on his little scrap of paper.

"My date." I look at her and wink. I feel like the luckiest son of a bitch on earth. She throws an eyebrow up and shakes her head, but she can't hide that beautiful smile.

"Thank you, Miss Steele." He scurries off to wherever press people go when they're not invading people's privacy.

"I looked for pictures of you with dates on the Internet. There aren't any. That's why Kate thought you were gay."

"That explains your inappropriate question. No, I don't do dates, Anastasia—only with you. But you know that."

"So you never took your"— she glances around to make sure no one's in earshot- subs out?"

"Just you, Anastasia," I whisper.

She blushes.

"Your friend here seems more of a landscape man, not portraits. Let's look around." I hold out my hand to her, because frankly I just want to hold it, and to my delight she takes it. Walking with her like this, our palms joined and fingers intertwined, casually, for everyone to see, is well... More.

We wander past a few desolate swamps and a forest with creatures that match the bark. God, I can only see so many damn trees! He's out in the wilderness so much I'm surprised a bear or some poisonous toad hasn't claimed him. Wishful thinking.

A couple walks by us, whispering and smiling at Ana. My initial thought is it's because we are so adorable together, but then I notice a few other stragglers- and I do mean stragglers- do the same. This is peculiar, even for a crowd of drugged up artists. Then, I see that some fucker in a knitted mustard color beanie and matching pants is blatantly staring at her. Full out eye rape! I'm about to introduce him to my favorite fist when Ana pulls me around the corner and we both gasp in unison.

Seven. Fucking. Portraits. My beautiful Ana. Mine! Displayed across an entire wall of the gallery. Pouting, laughing, pouting some more, laughing some more... All in close-up black and white and blown up to seven times her natural head. My anger momentarily subsides as I am lost in them. In her. She is a siren, an angel and the boy has captured her and all her sides completely. The giggling, sweet, funny girl I love. That's the Ana I want to see more of. Relaxed, happy. I want her to feel that way with me. Not the girl with shadowed eyes and sunken cheeks who's spent the last five days crying. I am a monster, I know. I will never forgive myself for that.

She looks exquisite in each one. They're breathtaking, alluring and so charmingly intimate. Intimate. The thought of her intimate with the photographer rolls my gut. When and where the fuck did he take these intimate photos?! One looks like she's sitting on a bed! Holy fuck! Is it his?! My anger has returned with gale force. It's clear now he doesn't just want in her panties, he wants in her life! He's fucking in love with her!

"Seems I'm not the only one," I mutter, clenching my jaw. Venom seething between my teeth.

She opens her mouth to say something, but stops. She looks almost apologetic and in a state of her own shock.

"Excuse me." I dart to reception and find Hooker Lips.

"The portraits. I want to purchase them."

"Which one?"

"All of them."

I throw her my AMEX and keep my eyes on Ana to make sure Jose doesn't prey on her in my absence. He seems to sniff her out when I'm not on the scene like a blood thirsty hyena.

"I'm sorry, but the one on the bed has already been sold." It is a bed!

"To whom?!"

She points to a balding man in a leather bomber jacket, dripping in gold jewelry and pornographic intentions. He signs his credit card receipt with the grin of a cat who ate the canary. Well, no one is eating my canary, but me!

"He's not buying it! Tell him the sale is off!"

"I'm sorry, but-"

I push my way over to the predator.

"She's mine!"

"Huh?"

"I'm sure you have enough pornography at home, you don't need to add another innocent young woman to your collection."

"Listen here, buddy." He moves to get in my face, but he's so short he only reaches my neck.

"How much did you pay for the portrait?" I glare down at him, menacingly.

"$1500. And the sale's done."

Oh, a fucking challenge. I pull out my checkbook. "I'll give you double."

"I'm sorry, I like the pretty photo of the pretty girl. I have just the place for it in my home."

In his bedroom, I'm sure. Oh, this fucker will fry!

"$10,000."

"Sir, I can not be bought."

"$15,000 and I'll throw in a car."

Five minutes later all seven are mine. I'll need Taylor to phone Audi first thing.

"Hey. You're the muse. These photographs are terrific." Some hoodlum with a man bun is accosting Ana now. Jesus, there are men crawling everywhere ready to attack! I can hardly keep up! I rush to her side and throw my arm around her waist, pulling her tight to my side, staking my claim. I ice him with my stare.

"You're a lucky guy." His voice squeaks. Not sure if I've properly scared him or he hasn't reached puberty yet.

"That I am." Now, go find a pier to jump off, Bun Boy!

I pull her away, to the side of the room. Her portraits watching us from the walls.

"Did you just buy one of these?"

"One of these?" I snort. Does she think so little of me?

"You bought more than one?"

"I bought them all, Anastasia. I don't want some stranger ogling you in the privacy of their home." I'm sure Jose has them saved on his phone to jerk off to while he's waiting in the wilderness for insects to pop their heads out of the bark. I wonder how to incinerate someone else's phone from afar. I'll consult Welch.

"You'd rather it was you?" She scoffs, brushing her hair off her shoulders.

What a mouth on her! I want it on me so badly. I bite my tongue, trying to hide my amusement and to keep it from invading her mouth.

"Frankly, yes."

"Pervert." Her lips twist, puckering in the most adorable smile.

I drop my jaw in exaggerated amusement and then stroke my chin thoughtfully.

"Can't argue with that assessment, Anastasia."

"I'd discuss it further with you, but I've signed an NDA."

"What I'd like to do to your smart mouth." I brush her bottom lip lightly with my thumb.

"You're very rude." She feigns shock, but the pink dusting across her cheeks tells me she's enjoying this. Us.

I look around. The fourteen eyes of Ana all stare right at me. Even in print she sees me like no one else.

"You look relaxed in these photographs, Anastasia. I don't see you like that very often."

She flushes and glances down and away. I gently place my fingers on her chin and tilt her head back so our eyes meet. Our connection intense, she inhales sharply.

"I want you that relaxed with me," I whisper, stroking her cheek softly with the back of my fingers. Her skin is delicate and fine, like porcelain, with chips and cracks caused by me. I want my lips to touch every inch of her soft face, healing her brokenness with all the love I have to give. I don't believe love coming from me could ever be good enough to mend what was severed, but from the place in my soul that was lit by her, I yearn to try.

"You have to stop intimidating me if you want that," she snaps.

"You have to learn to communicate and tell me how you feel," I snap back, probably too harshly, but my frustration is getting the best of me.

"Christian, you wanted me as a submissive. That's where the problem lies. It's in the definition of a submissive—you e-mailed it to me once." She's flustered, recalling. "Compliant, passive, docile, agreeable..."

"Yes, I am well aware of the definition and you were and never will be any of those things and I'm glad."

"It's very confusing being with you. You say you're happy I'm not those things, but then you don't want me to defy you. You say you like my 'smart mouth'. You want obedience, except when you don't, so you can punish me. I just don't know which way is up when I'm with you."

I can't hear anymore. She's right, I am one fucked up son of bitch. She would be far better off without me, I know. But, I am nothing without her. I should be a good enough person to let her go, but I'm not. I want her. All of her. Everything I'm feeling is in conflict with anything I've known and the lack of control it brings boils me from within.

"Good point well made, as usual, Miss Steele... Come, let's go eat." Food. I can still have control over food. And, God she needs to eat!

"We've only been here for half an hour."

"You've seen the photos; you've spoken to the boy."

"His name is José."

"You've spoken to José—the man who, the last time I met him, was trying to push his tongue into your reluctant mouth while you were drunk and sick."

Honestly! Every fucking thing I do, including wanting her safe, warm and properly nourished is wrong, but he's a fucking saint!

"He's never hit me." She slaps me with her words. I take a step back. The wind knocked from my gut.

"That's a low blow, Anastasia," I whisper, hurt deeply by her sting. Anger wells in me. Anger at myself for being the beast that hurt her, anger at her for throwing it back in my face and using it in Jose's defense, anger at the photographer for... Well, because I fucking hate the guy! I need to get out of this fucking shrine to Jose and she's coming with me!

"I'm taking you for something to eat. You're fading away in front of me. Find the boy, say good-bye."

"Please, can we stay longer?" Why does she want to stay here so bad?! To be with him?!

"No. Go. Now. Say good-bye." He who flies the helicopter calls the shots!

"Fine, I will." She raises a brow, defiant, as she huffs and turns on her boot to find him, leaving her fourteen eyes watching me.

I'm livid! That huffing of hers is just too much! And that eyebrow raise! And those disobedient boots! She's driving me to actually want to drink the house wine, I hope she knows that!

"Fuck this!" I need to find Ana and her boots. I nearly knock down Jimm, the bar and approximately $37 worth of wine as I rush to find Ana. I'm on a mission. She won't say goodbye to the photographer alone!

I spot the fucker of the hour first in the far corner by the gallery dedicated to toads. Appropriate. He has four groupies draped on him like mink! What kind of groupies with any kind of self worth follow a nature photographer around?!

There's Ana! Ana, all sassy and defiant and fucking hot marching over - in those boots- to bid Casanova adieu. Of course he immediately puts on his baby face 'I didn't take cookies from the jar' smile and shoves the bimbos off like festival waste to devote his full frontal attention to my Ana.

They exchange a few words, a few smiles, a few fucking 'ha ha ha's' and then suddenly to my horror he picks her up and swings her around in his arms. Her giggles echo through the gallery and land on my heart, crushing it. She looks back and finds my watching eyes in the crowd. We connect for a moment until she leaves my eyes for his. Then, like in a nightmare come to life, she wraps her arms around his neck and they swing some more. So much god damn swinging! She looks back for me again, making sure my eyes haven't left her and I know what she's trying to do. With every drop of boiling blood in my body I submit to her game and race to claim what's mine.

"Mr. Rodriguez, very impressive." My voice is low and menacing as I stand behind the two of them. He puts her down and her hands involuntarily hold his chest to steady herself as she finds footing on the ground. It makes me sad to think she can touch him there like that and she can't touch me. Because, I won't let her. I never thought I would want that, but a newly awakened part of me does want her and only her to touch me there. But, I can't now. Maybe one day. Right now I have to deal with this fucker. I pull her to me forcefully and wrap my arm around her shoulder, holding her tight to me.

"Mr. Grey. I didn't see you here before," Jose remarks coolly.

"I was purchasing some of your work." He knows exactly which work I mean.

"Well, I hope you'll take care of it for me."

"Oh, yes. I take care of what's mine." Mine, fucker!

"Christian-" Ana says, in an attempt to soften the confrontation.

"I'm sorry we can't stay longer here together, but we need to head back to Seattle. Together." We's and together's fully emphasized for dramatic effect.

"Christian-" Ana says again, this time louder and more clipped. I side note that I can read every emotion she feels for and about me by how she says my name.

"Anastasia, I don't want us to be too tired when we get home." I give her a little wink.

She scowls at me. I know she hates talking about our sex life in front of anyone.

"I'm going straight to bed."

"That's the idea."

She rolls her eyes. That's it, I've had it.

"Goodbye, Jose." My saccharin tongue spits. I pull her hand and begin to move us away.

"Thanks for coming. It was good talking to you the other day." I'm stopped in my tracks. I can hear the smirk in the fucker's voice and as I turn my head back to him I see it.

Fuck! I almost forgot about that little phone call. The bastard's trying to get me in trouble! Ana looks up at me, quizzically.

"Yes, fun." What can I say?!

"I didn't expect you to answer Ana's phone." He looks to her. "I hope he gave you the message."

Ana shoots her eyes up to me. She's pissed. I'm about to be outted. The photographer will know we've been split up. She'll hate me. He'll win and I'll lose her again.

"Yeah, I got the message from Christian." I know what she's saying with that Christian. She shoots me that perturbed side eye that I know well and have grown to love, but to my delight she gives nothing away to Jose.

Goodbye Jose." I tug on Ana's waist. She kicks at my shin and moves to him.

"Bye, José. Congratulations again." She's about to kiss the bastard on his cheek, but I grab her hand and pull her away before he gets lip-cheek satisfaction.

I move her fast through the crowd.

"You talked to him?!"

Keep tugging!

"He called!"

Keep moving!

"You answered my Blackberry!"

"You gave it back to me! Technically it's mine again, so technically he called me!"

Move, druggies!

"How could you?!"

"Oh there are a lot of how could's I could ask you. Like how could you hang all over him in front of me?"

"I was saying goodbye."

"It looked more like hello!"

I practically plow us through a herd of late comers that I'm sure caught wind there was free wine and we move out of the building and onto the street, both of us lit with rage. God, she ignites me like no other person on earth. She's frustrating and disobedient and the way she sasses me, it's so aggravating and maddening and so god damn hot. Even the rage of jealousy coursing through me fans my flame for her. And of course my dick is hard. All control is lost. I want her, no I need her. Now.

I look quickly up and down the street, my hand firmly holding to hers. I see an alley and I sweep left, moving her between two abandoned buildings. I can take it no more. I abruptly push her up against the cracked brick, grab her face between my hands, and force her chin up to meet my scorching eyes.

She gasps as my mouth takes hers, consuming her with raw passion, almost violent in its need for her. A primal dance of lust and love as our two bodies connect in both. My teeth clash with hers as I invade her mouth with my tongue. I can't get close enough to her.

Every fiber of my being needs to feel her. Needs to taste her. Insatiable desire burns through me and suddenly I realize she's kissing me back the same. Her long, skilled fingers twist in my hair, grasping and pulling it, hard. I groan low and deep, feeling it in my groin. My throat humming with animalistic hunger for her. My hand moves down her body to the top of her thigh. I dig my fingers into her flesh, needing to feel her skin on mine. I lift the hem of her dress, exposing the crease of her ass to the night as I pull her leg up to my waist and stroke the leather of her boot, wrapping her around me. She squeezes her thigh to tighten herself to me. Her groin thrusting to meet mine, I know she needs this, too. All the angst and heartbreak of the last few days is being pored out into our kiss, binding her to me. We are one.

After all breath is gone from my body, given in sacrifice and offering to this deity whom I will worship until time's end, I break off the kiss.

"You. Are. Mine," I proclaim, lost for air, lost in her. I push away, leaving her breathy and wanton and gloriously beautiful in the silver light of the moon. I place my hands on my knees, gasping for the wind that's escaped my lungs. She has left me with nothing and everything all at once. "For the love of God, Ana."

She leans her back on the wall, straightening herself and gaining composure from this explosion that's taken us both.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, once her breath has returned.

"You should be. I know what you were doing. Do you want the photographer, Anastasia? He obviously has feelings for you." I wince, fearful of a stinging yes.

She shakes her head. "Do you really think that's who I want?" She leans forward and touches my head, softly.

My heart stops for the second or third time tonight, I've lost count. But, this time, with her fingers touching me and her words conveying that it's me she wants, it beats again with joy. I look up to her.

"I have spent all my adult life trying to avoid any extreme emotion. Yet you … you bring out feelings in me that are completely alien. It's very …" I reach for a better word, but there is nothing. "Unsettling.

"I like control, Ana, and around you that just"— I stand, the intensity of my gaze flaming —"evaporates." I wave my hand in the air, trying to catch what she does to me, but like holding the wind, it's impossible. I run my fingers through my hair, then look at her. She's so lovely standing there in front of me. After all I've done and after all that's happened she still stands there. I reach my hand out to her. For a moment it's alone, hanging in the air, vulnerable to the answer of the question it asks. She lifts her hand and reaches for me and without knowing where I'm leading her, she takes it.

"Come, we need to talk, and you need to eat."

And we walk together, quietly holding tight to each other's hands, under the light of moon hung especially for lovers.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Thanks for all the reviews/follows! This is a two part chapter. Here's part one. Part 2 should come tomorrow. xox **_

Ella Fitzgerald croons about a thing called love as I pull Anastasia through a low cherry wood archway into a tiny French bistro- the only restaurant with real silverware in a five block radius at least- so we can talk about the very same thing. It's surprising the place is even here, tucked tightly amongst cavernous warehouses and edged against a forgotten building that's crumbling to its knees. One wall stands alone, propped only by sheer determination and a prayer. Aware of their plight, a sign on a scripted board outside reads- Espérer parmi les ruines. Hope amongst the ruins.

The walk has been quiet. Both of us with so much to say, but saying nothing. Each pause in breath pregnant with uncertainty for the next. So many emotions wash over me. It's both a privilege and a curse to have a heart awakened. The things you never felt, now you feel.

The walls of the dining room bleed red, boxing around us as we step further inside. Not the most ideal color, considering. With the dark wood and amber light, it's as if my red room had on off-shoot bistro. Instead of cats and floggers, cote de boeuf and creme brûlée. Dominant jokes, I know. But it's late and she's wasting away before me. I swear she's lost two pounds this evening alone. "This will have to do." I say to her, still holding tight to her hand.

"Bonjour!" An ill toupeed maitre d who calls himself 'Franc', like the dated currency, greets us. I, call it a hunch, suspect he is not really a Frenchmen but just a 'Frank' who plays a 'Franc' in Portland. He leads us to a private table under a tented enclave, throwing around 'ouis' and 'mercis' like arrogant piss. I'm sure his game is to impress the female clientele. He's a little too impressed with the clientele of a certain female that belongs to me. His eyes ogling her derrier, he grabs the back of her chair to pull it out for her and I, of course, swoop in.

"Foutez le camp loin de sa chaise et vos yeux de son cul. Elle est à moi!" I piss back at him. Translated- Get the fuck away from her chair and your eyes off her ass. She's mine! Frank!

He looks at me dumbfounded as I take control of Ana's seat. As I suspected, Frank doesn't know a word beyond a conversational Rosetta Stone lesson. But, he got the message. The rat scurries back to his post. I still may beat the shit out of him, but there are others ahead of him in line.

"What did you say to him? It sounded... Elegant." Elegant is more of a skeptic's question than a commentary on my flair for the Romance languages.

"Allow me." I flirt a wink as I pull her chair out and she sits.

"That was a little wordy for such a tight little phrase."

Lips to her ear, I whisper. "You could be accused of the very same thing, Miss Steele." I help push her in. Her cheeks flex against mine, telling me she's trying not to smile, but can't help herself.

I take my seat, un-fanning the napkin peacocked in my glass and spread it across my lap. Anastasia is breathtaking as she sits across from me. The dancing flames from tea lights that float in a tulip shaped bowl of sea colored water reflect in her eyes. Her gaze, the roll of the cooling ocean and the heat of a firing sun, all at once.

"Garçon!" I snap to get a passing waiter's attention. By passing, I mean standing, back propped against a wall, watching nothing.

"Yes?" He looks at me like he's trying to register what I could possibly want from him. This is a restaurant! He's a waiter! What's all the confusion?!

"We want to order."

He slugs over, straightening his sagging cummerbund on tuxedo pants that I'd venture to guess were purchased circa 1973, when he was twenty pounds lighter. His right hand labors in his pockets for bottle-glass spectacles, which he puts on, then readies his pen and pad. Twenty fucking minutes later...

"Would you like to hear our specials?" I nod, expecting a plate of the day and maybe a fresh catch. Instead, I hear the phone book. He starts in on A for appetizers, speaking with the efficiency of a winded turtle as he reads from his notes. How can a place so small have so many damn specials?! Don't they lose their specialness shuffled in with the crowd? And when does it just become the menu? Christ, If I listened to everything he had to say we'd be having breakfast by the time we ordered dinner, she'd have lost five more pounds, and I definitely would've beat the shit out of the maitre d.

"We don't have until Tuesday," I say, interrupting the 27 ingredients that go into the soup of the day-Tomato. "So we'll each have sirloin steak cooked medium, béarnaise sauce if you have it, fries, and green vegetables, whatever the chef has; and bring me the wine list."

"Certainly, sir." Garçon putters off. I think I hear an 'arrogant fucker' mumbled under his breath.

"And if I don't like steak?" Ana hisses. Oh fuck, here we go.

"Don't start, Anastasia." I sigh and point a finger, waving it for effect. "You had a banana for lunch!" I don't even want to talk about that. I've never felt so much outrage toward a fruit before. I'm not sure I can ever eat one again. Too much history.

"You know, I can order for myself."

"If you ordered for yourself you'd starve." Three leaves of lettuce and spoonful of that soup and she'd claim she'd had Thanksgiving dinner and the subsequent leftovers.

"I am not a child, Christian."

"Well, stop acting like one!" I huff and cross my arms. I realize, I myself look a spoiled boy of ten and uncross them, straightening the aggressive origami style folds out of my napkin to occupy my now free hands. Who the fuck folds these napkins?! I imagine a little team of elves enslaved in the back.

Ana looks away, pissed and her eyes are welling up. Oh fuck, what have I done?! I'm making her cry already and we haven't even had bread. I casually push the basket toward her to shift her attention to carbohydrates, but she has no interest in sticks or buns. She touches petal tips from a vase of white roses at our table that have seen their day and probably another four. I hope the Bewitching Virgins I sent her don't dip their heads so sad over their glass.

"I'm a child because I don't like steak?" She crinkles her nose with the menace of a Shar Pei. It's rather adorable. I have to keep reminding myself I'm still mad. At what? I'm lost again in her crinkling... The cutest little button nose... Oh yeah! The fucking photographer!

"You're a child for trying to make me jealous back there with the boy."

"Were you?" Is that a trick question?

"Was I what?" Play it cool, Grey. No one ruffles your feathers. Especially not a nature photographer.

"Jealous?" She leans in, arms folded, eyes fixed. Is she taunting me?

"I am not jealous of the photographer!" I grab a baguette and rip it in two.

"Would you please call him by his name?" What, 'Fucker'?

"I did." I stuff a defiant tear in my mouth as crust rains down on the table.

"He wasn't born 'the photographer'." She even uses the finger quotes.

"Jose! Jose fucking Rodriguez! Are you happy?!" My mouth full of dough, I work to swallow it fast before it flies at her or I choke to death. I take a lengthy sip of water, my eyes heating as my tongue cools. I pound the glass down, water sloshing about. She sits up, at attention. "I need to know something, Ana. It's eating me alive and I need you to be completely honest with me." I grit my teeth, images of the photographer and their swinging giggles kidnapping my sanity. "Were you in his bed or yours?!"

Ana's mouth drops open wide enough for a hive of bees to nest. Judging from her reaction, I picture them all flying out at me at once and stinging in unison.

"Sir, excuse me..." Garçon is back. He stands over my shoulder pushing some sort of wooden object into me. I turn to see it's a chalk board sized for one of the enslaved elves.

"What is this?!" He hands it to me, white powder flying all over my pants. I brush.

"The wine list, sir."

Six wines I've never heard of scratched in faded white dust, probably by him, probably just now.

"Do you want to choose the wine?" I ask Ana, knowing full well she knows nothing about it. I'm an ass, I know. But, my ass wasn't in bed with the photographer!

"You choose." Ouch. Here come the bees.

Quickly, I pick the one least likely to offend me.

"Two glasses of the Barossa Valley Shiraz, please." I wave him off. Like a roach in the apocalypse, he doesn't die.

"We only sell that wine by the bottle, sir."

"A bottle, then," I snap. Jesus, get lost!

"Sir." Garçon finally retreats. He says 'sir' so much he sounds like one of my submissives. Or Taylor.

"What the hell are you taking about?" She's crossing her arms now and tapping her foot. It's the foot tap that means the business.

"The photo he took, that he was selling for profit, I might add. You were on a bed. All sprawled out in a man's shirt, giggling and puffing your lips."

"Puffing my lips?"

"Yes, it was quite sexy, or would be if you were in my bed, in my shirt..." She twists her mouth, seemingly amused. Does she not see that my heart is ripping from my chest?!

"That was my shirt, on my couch, covered with my sheet used for artistic purposes."

"Artistic purposes... Ha! I've heard that old line before!" Thank God it wasn't his bed! But, I'm still not happy about giggling swings or pouty lips. God, I want those pouty lips all over me right now. I frown.

"You're very grumpy."

"I wonder why that is?" You paw all over the photographer, you starve yourself, I'm not currently having sex with you on this table...

"Well, it's good to set the right tone for an intimate and honest discussion about the future, wouldn't you say?" Intimacy? My ears are perked. The future?! Oh god, this could be the end of mine.

"I'm sorry." It's all I can say to her. "It's just, I saw you touch him. Where you can't touch me..."

"You won't let me touch you." She sounds so sad, her voice fading off. She touches the flowers again.

I sigh. She makes it sound like I don't want her to. Well, that's what I tell her, but I do. I am desperate to feel her touch. For her hands to caress my bare skin as we make love. To be that close. There's desperation is her eyes, too, as she reaches her hand across the table to find mine.

"I just can't..." I say as I hold her fingers, brushing her knuckles, needing to feel her warm skin connected to mine. I notice they're bare. I would like to bejewel each finger in rare gemstones and drape her delicate wrists in platinum and gold. I touch her left ring finger, free of a promise, and for a moment I have a glorious vision of exactly the promise I would like to place there. But, I close my eyes and I have to look away. That's a dream.

"I know." She says, squeezing my hand, and I believe she does. She knows me better than anyone. A smile crosses her face and all tension is burned away with her glow. "Apology accepted and I'm sorry, too."

I kiss her fingertips and set them down. She brushes some of my angry table-top crumbs away.

"And, I'm pleased to inform you I haven't decided to become a vegetarian since we last ate."

"Since that was the last time you ate, I think that's a moot point."

"There's that word again, 'moot.' " God, I love what her lips do to that word.

"Moot," My eyes watch those lips as my mouth works to form the word, but not nearly as nicely as she does. She giggles and the sweetness of her mirth has me transfixed. Her eyes softly catch mine and I am drawn to her and she to me. Our bodies magnetized to each other, needing to be connected in some way. Needing to be one. Can't I just kiss her? Our lips move to touch and suddenly, with a jolt, I pull back.

"What's wrong?" She asks, startled from the moment.

I run a edgy palm, damp with angst, through my already well tousled hair. I'm surprised I'm left with any hair at all since I've met Anastasia. If I do marry her, I'll be bald by forty. Marry her... Why do I keep having these thoughts? I shake my head.

"Ana,.." I clear my throat three times, no four, take a gulp of water, then another and start again. "Ana, you left me. I'm a little nervous." A little? I'm in a perpetual state of panic attack. I look down, needing to hold on to something to still my shaking hands. The butter knife! No, that could be bad. The salt shaker! Yes! I steal it from its pepper partner and play with it for distraction. "I've told you I want you back, and you've said … nothing." I cut my eyes, shy and seeking, up to her as a shake of salt spills on and around my fingers.

"You told me you didn't want to talk then. We'd make a scene. You said we'd talk later."

"And now here we are... Later... Now... Talking" God, I'm making no sense! And my voice sounds two octaves higher! Is my tongue still alive?! I bite it to make sure. Ouch! Should I throw some of this salt over my shoulder for luck? That might be weird. Then, I remember I don't believe in luck. I believe in control in all things. I told her that. Who the hell was that guy?! I suddenly get the urge to beat the shit out of my former self. He certainly didn't know Anastasia yet.

"I've missed you … really missed you, Christian..."

But?! I hear a 'but' coming! Oh god kill me now with the butter knife.

"The past few days have been … difficult."

No, 'but'! That's good.

"But,..."

Fucking 'but'!

"Nothing's changed. I can't be what you want me to be."

"You are what I want you to be." I'm the one who isn't enough for her! Can't she see that?!

"No, Christian, I'm not."

"Because of before? What I did?" I shudder remembering the sound of the belt biting her. The color of her skin reddening under each lash from my hand, marking her pain. Six times. The feel of her sobbing as I held her in my arms and she told me, after all that I had done, that she loved me. And me, telling her it was wrong. I will never forget how she looked walking out on me. I will never forget how I felt watching her weep as she said goodbye. "I behaved stupidly, and you … Why didn't you use the safe word?"

She says nothing.

"Answer me." I trusted her to stop me and she didn't. This question has haunted me. I need to know.

"I was trying to be what you wanted me to be, trying to feel the pain you needed me to feel." She pauses, fiddling with her hands. "I wanted to know the pain you feel when I touch you."

I exhale and look away, out the bay window that faces the street. There's a couple with a small child walking. The father is holding a boy about two with a mop of brown hair and a squeal that vibrates the window panes. They have ice cream cones dipped in colorful sprinkles that are dripping all over, melting in the warm summer air. They laugh as the little boy makes a mess of his face and the couple works to clean him up, together. The man kisses the woman and she smiles, brushing her fingers across the little boy's chocolate stained cheek, and then moving them onto the man's chest, laying her hand so casually and lovingly on his heart. Touching him there. Like it's nothing. But, it's something. It's everything. It's just a regular scene, but its happy simplicity knifes me. I look back to Ana, who is watching me. Waiting for a response.

"I don't want you to ever feel my pain," I say, my voice low with gritting sincerity. I would throw myself in front of a moving train rather than have her know what I know. I am no good for her, I know that, too. She deserves a man who will make her smile over ice cream with a little boy and will let her touch him like it's nothing.

"I guess, too... With everything that happened, the safe word went out of my mind. You know … I forgot," she whispers, in confession.

"What?" My heart pounds in my throat. "You forgot!" I gasp, grabbing the sides of the table to find equilibrium and to channel the unexpected rage that's been called up. How could she be so heedless, so negligent? How can she just brush it off? We both agreed to the rules. I feel a sense of betrayal. "How can I trust you... Ever?"

Garçon arrives with our wine as we sit staring at each other over flickering candle light, dead roses and heavy regrets. We don't look at him as he removes the cork, but we both jump at the theatrical pop. "Voila!" He calls out, like he's presenting vintage Perrier Jouet to the Queen. With no audience to applaud, the curtain falls flat on this one man Shakespearean tragedy, and he sets a glass down for me to taste. I throw it back fast.

"It's fine." I wave him off, my eyes still not leaving hers.

But, the fucker's not done! He starts filling each glass. Measuring pours like a chemistry experiment. I swear, this guy lives his life wading up a river of molasses or maybe thick shit. My heart is nearly exploding through my chest, waiting for this goblet filling madness to be over with.

"Enough wine!" I shout and he gingerly sets down the bottle and shuffles away.

"I'm sorry," she says, breaking our eye contact to take a gulp.

I sigh and rub my face in my hands.

"We might have avoided all this suffering." I take a sip, the notes of coffee and currants bitter to my tongue.

"You look fine. More than fine. You look like you." Is she insane?! Everyone tells me how shitty I look, especially Taylor and Flynn. But, wait, she's saying I look 'more than fine'. Like un-diseased or dashing? Or perhaps she thinks I'm 'cute'. I melt a little. Maybe it's the slimline shirt. Or the the rosewater in my aftershave. Christ, I may smell like roses, but I feel like shit.

"I'm anything but fine. I feel like the sun has set and not risen for five days, Ana. I'm in perpetual night here." I dip my head, steepling my fingers to rest my forehead and hide my forlorn eyes. "You said you'd never leave, yet the going gets tough and you're out the door."

"When did I say I'd never leave?" Oh, that's right, she never said it out loud, coherent. I'm caught.

"In your sleep." I woke early and watched her in those quiet hours before the sun. Her breath softly moving her chest as she lay in my bed. Stroking her hair gently off her neck, I watched to make sure she was safe and warm and marveled that she was mine. I touched her lip and a smile from deep in her subconscious lit her face, her eyes fluttering in a soulful dream of me as she said those words... "It was the most comforting thing I'd ever heard, Anastasia. It made me relax." And I have never been able to relax.

"So, that's what I said..." She smiles shyly.

"You said you loved me," I whisper, my heart catching in my throat. "Is that now in the past tense?"

She takes a breath, as I hold mine waiting for her answer. If it's 'no', I may choose to never breathe again.

"No, Christian, it's not." Thank God! My exhale an invocation.

"Good." I reach across the table and bring her hand to my lips, kissing the tips of her fingers.

Garçon is back again, this time with food, forcing my mouth to leave Ana's fingers and move to the meal. Ana still loves me! Ana's going to eat! Things are looking up, Grey!

"So help me God, Anastasia, if you don't eat, I will take you across my knee here in this restaurant, and it will have nothing to do with my sexual gratification. Eat!"

"Okay, I'll eat. Stow your twitching palm, please."

I cut my eyes to her and the corners of my mouth lift as she teases a grin. One minute she has me seeing red, the next my heart is doing backflips and butterflies flutter in my core. This is what she does to me.

We eat our supper in silence. She finishes half her plate and I thank Mary, Joseph and Jesus for the sweet miracle. The music's changed. A soft-voiced woman sings in the background about a boy she'll never be the same without. I look over to Ana, knowing the very same feeling.

We lift our goblets and sip our wine in sync, our eyes meeting over the rims. The candlelight reflecting in her glass and illuminating the bluest eyes I've ever seen.

"Do you know who's singing? She asks. A drop of red wine spots her lip and she tastes it off with her tongue. Why is that the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen?

"No … but she's good, whoever she is." I don't care who she is, I can't stop watching Ana's mouth.

"I like her, too." She's returning my watch with a watch of her own. What exactly is she watching with her watch?

"Dance with me." I lean across the table and gently stroke her arm with my finger tips. Her skin pimples under my touch.

"What?"

"Dance with me."

"We're in a restaurant."

I stand and hold out my hand to her.

"I'm well aware."

She debates for a moment, then the corners of her mouth lift as she places her fingers on my palm and I pull her up to me.

"People will see us and think we're fools." She tucks head shyly down toward my shoulder and I lift her chin gently with my fingertips.

"We are." I move her to the music. The soft notes encapsulating us in a world of our own. How heavenly she feels wrapped in my arms. I spin her. "Let them all spit nails at me in a jealous rage that I'm dancing with the most beautiful girl in the room."

"I'm the only girl in the room," she smirks, looking around at the now barren enclave, as I pull her back to me.

"You always are to me." Blush dusts her cheeks. I spot Garçon peeking around the kitchen door, watching us. I think he's enjoying the show. He's used to watching the wall.

"I have a proposition for you." I whisper in her ear, the fine hairs on her neck standing on end as my breath finds her skin.

"This started with a proposition." She grins with mischievous bite.

"Is that sarcasm I'm sensing, Miss Steele?"

"In its lowest form." She smiles and it's precious. I have to smile, too.

"A different proposition." I stroke her cheek as that woman in aching love belts out her final notes. "God, I want to kiss you." My thumb touches her bottom lip and she closes her eyes.

"Why don't you?"

Lips about to touch... But, I pull away.

"Because we need to drive home and talk." The song ends and I lift her hand to kiss it, thanking her for the dance, the night and everything she is, which is everything. "I don't want to lose you, Anastasia."

So, we finish our meal and head out into the night to talk, taking with us hope from the ruins.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Repost due to a few typos. Here re is the 2nd part of the chapter...**_

Outside the Audi is waiting. I open her door and she slides inside and nestles her rear on the plush leather. She languidly crosses her long legs that seem to be getting longer and leggier as the hours wash away. Her skirt inches up, showing me more of her thigh, as she reaches up and over, buckling herself in. God, I wish I was buckling her up and in.

"Something wrong?" She asks, feigning innocence as she turns back to me, teasing, with batty lashes and a girlish toss of her chestnut hair. She pulls on her belt, satisfied with its hold, knowing full well I'd like to strap her in and tighten it. Her boot tips kick up as she presses her heels into the carpeted floor. She's killing me all over the place and I willingly submit to her wicked sword.

"Nothing is wrong at all." I notice my mouth is open, and I just manage to close it before descending drool ruins the entire 9th inning of my game. "I have to talk to Taylor." I close the door fast, wiping lovesick slobber from my mouth's edges, and head to the driver's side where Taylor is standing at attention.

"Do you have your iPod?" I ask, no time for bullshit.

"Yes, sir."

He lifts it from his pocket and shows me. It's neon green. What man north of twelve picks neon green? I always figured him a chrome man. Anyway, I don't fucking care as long as it plugs his ears up.

"Use it... And drive slow and around." I motion 'around' with my hand, but he's not getting it.

"Around, sir?"

"The long way, like I said. And, put on some soft music. Nothing with an agitated beat."

"Yes, sir." Taylor starts to move away.

"Wait-" I call to him.

He turns back, expectantly.

"How's my breath?"

Without hesitation, he hands me an Altoid.

Fucker. I pop the mint and clap my hands, sliding them back and forth, building heat to ready myself, as Taylor takes to the wheel, and I move to take my own. "Okay, Grey, land this plane."

I slide in next to Ana and her sexy as hell legs, shutting the door and locking us inside.

"I don't want anyone getting in," I grumble. Or out.

Her knees are calling to me, begging me to part them, but I must evade their wanton pleas. I need to talk to Ana, not her spread thighs! A symphony piece blasts from the stereo speakers and we both grab our ears in response. Taylor, handicapped by his earbuds, misjudged the volume. I scramble to right his wrong and adjust the dial to an ambient level. Once soft, pleasing notes fill the air, I turn to face her with purpose.

"As I was saying, Anastasia, I have a proposition for you."

She glances nervously at Taylor, who pulls out into traffic.

"Taylor can't hear you," I try and reassure her.

"How?"

"Taylor," I call. Taylor doesn't respond. I call again, still no response. I lean over and tap his shoulder. Taylor removes an earbud.

"Yes, sir?"

I give him an 'A-Okay' wink.

"Thank you, Taylor. It's okay; resume your listening."

"Sir." The neon green is back in business and so am I.

"Happy now? He's listening to his iPod. Puccini. Forget he's here. I do."

"Did you deliberately ask him to do that?"

"Yes."

"Okay, your proposition?" She changes the crossing of her legs. Shut up, libidinous knees!

I clear my throat and sit up as straight as I can. It's business, Grey. Like negotiating any other kind of deal. Except, your entire life and any hope for happiness in your otherwise dark and loveless future depends on it. I clear my throat and move to adjust my tie, until I realize I'm not wearing one. Instead, I adjust the wing tips of my open collar.

"Do you want a regular vanilla relationship with no kinky fuckery at all?" I spit out.

Her mouth drops open. "Kinky fuckery?" She squeaks. It's kind of cute. But, this is serious business. Nothing cute or squeaky about kinky fuckery.

"Kinky fuckery." I repeat, bringing us back to the topic at hand. Honestly, she has to learn to stop being embarrassed by kink and fuck.

"I can't believe you said that." She can't believe I said that?! Me?! The man who is fluent in butt plugs and ball gags, and pulled her tampon out over a hotel basin to have my way with her, and then shared a bath? Does she not know me at all?!

"Well, I did. Answer me."

She flushes and looks down, her polish almost all chipped off those nervous thumbs of hers. I make a mental note to get her a manicure appointment at the salon.

"I like your kinky fuckery." Her eyes cut up to me as lights from passing cars illuminate and then darken her face.

"That's what I thought. So what don't you like?"

"The threat of punishment."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, you have all those canes and whips and stuff in your playroom, and they frighten the living daylights out of me. I don't want you to use them on me."

I knew she had trepidation, but I never imagined how frightened she was... Of me. I close my eyes, tightly, strangled by this revelation. Knowing that she is scared of me crushes me to the bone. I suppose when I started out, all I knew was pain, so the bite of a cane felt almost comforting... Like home.

"Okay, so no whips or canes—or belts, for that matter." That fucking belt has already been cut up into shreds and damned to the incinerator. I don't want to see another belt for as long as I live. I can barely wear one without spite.

She looks at me, puzzled by where I am headed. She thinks I know? I'm flying by the seat of my pants. I'm just sitting here with my open collar and open mind and 'going for it' as Flynn would say. Jumping without a parachute, and surfing the winds of change. Oh god, I sound like a fucking hippie.

"Are you attempting to redefine the hard limits?" She asks, knotting her fingers together.

"Not as such, I'm just trying to understand you, get a clearer picture of what you do and don't like."

"Fundamentally, Christian, it's your joy in inflicting pain on me and the idea that you'll do it because I have crossed some arbitrary line."

"But it's not arbitrary; the rules are written down."

"I don't want a set of rules."

Oh. My. God. No rules. Fuck. Nothing? Okay, Mr. Open Collar-Wind Surfer, you can handle this. I think...

"None at all?" My voice shakes as I hold myself tight, squinting my eyes, like I'm about to take a punch.

"No rules." She shakes her head, cementing her stance. She just threw a whopper.

"But you don't mind if I spank you?" Oh, please say no! Just a little spanking. Not even real spanking. More like a tapping of love.

"Spank me with what?"

"This." I hold up my hand, kind of limp to make it appear smaller and less able.

She squirms, her face flushing crimson. Wow. That really got to her. I straighten my hand out full.

"No, not really. Especially with those silver balls …" She's wiggling all over the place.

I smirk. "Yes, that was fun." Oh, soooo much fun, Miss Steele. Keep wiggling.

She peeks up to me for a fraction of a moment. "More than fun," she mutters, with another wiggle.

God, I want her to suck on my balls. The silver ones that is. There'll be time enough for other ball sucking later. Right now, I want to answer the call of her knees, part those delicious thighs, move my hand into her panties and place the balls deep inside of her with my fingers. Then, I'd take her across my lap and- Snap out of it, Grey! You're still talking!

"So you can deal with some pain?" I trip over the words, trying to get back on track. Thankfully, it's dark, because I have the eyes of a sex crazed madman and a full on erection. I try to envision things that turn me off like pickles, and lady wrestling, and the voice of Katherine Kavanagh.

She shrugs. "Yes, I suppose."

I take a deep breath and rub my hands on my thighs. Every pore on my body is perspiring with fountain-like exuberance. I can feel a gigantic sweat stain mapping it's way from my kidneys to my left ass cheek and it's seeking out new territories to conquer. Here it goes. The big moment. My life. On a platter. Like the proverbial roast pig with the apple in its mouth at the luau. She either feasts from my bounty or discards me amongst the waste of rotting pineapples.

"Anastasia, I want to start again. Do the vanilla thing and then maybe, once you trust me more and I trust you to be honest and to communicate with me, we could move on and do some of the things that I like to do."

I watch her eyes intently. She's thinking. This can't be good. The more she thinks, the worse my odds become. I'm not used to this. I never had these problems with the subs. They never thought!

"But what about punishments?"

"No punishments." I shoot back with the speed of a slinger, scared shitless, but surfing that changing wind. "None."

"And the rules?"

I take a deep breath, and with weighty resolve I let go of everything I have ever been, and have ever known.

"No rules." Gulp.

"None at all? But you have needs."

"I need you more, Anastasia." I move my hand to touch her face. Her skin a balm, a liniment to me. "These last few days have been hell. All my instincts tell me to let you go, tell me I don't deserve you..."

These last five days I do not wish on anyone, even the photographer. Well, maybe... No, that would mean she had been his. She was mine. Never have I felt so lost, alone. Starving and thirsting for her at the pit bottom of my own personal hell. If I was a good man, I would let her go...

"But I'm a selfish man. I've wanted you since you fell into my office. You are exquisite, honest, warm, strong, witty, beguilingly innocent; the list is endless. I'm in awe of you. I want you, and the thought of anyone else having you is like a knife twisting in my dark soul."

There it is. My guts spilled out for her to rake through and take from me what she will. She can have anything. All that is mine is hers. If she accepts this, we start anew. If she rejects me, I actually don't know how I will go on. I have no plan B. No parachute.

"Christian!" She scolds.

Oh fuck, she's mad! What did I do?!

"Why do you think you have a dark soul?"

Because, I do. That's why she's mad?! Don't be, it's a known thing. Concentrate on other items, like the compliments, and the knife twisting!

"I would never say that." She leans in closer, her delicate fingertips brushing the back of my hand. "Sad maybe, but you're a good man. I can see that … "

Why does she always insist I am good? After what I did, how can she defend me? Because, she doesn't know the darkest of you, Grey. If she did, she would run and never return.

"The pain of losing you was far worse than anything you did to me with that belt," she says, responding to my unspoken thoughts. "I wanted to run back to you."

"You did?" She nods and I am again awed by her her strength, her resilience, and just awed by her. "Why didn't you?"

"I couldn't be what you needed." She bows her head, conjuring up some dark image. "Besides, you said once I left it was over, and I could never come back. That would be that, and we'd have no sort of relationship at all."

You've said some pretty stupid fucking things in your time, Grey, but that by far was the fucking stupidest. I'm winding up my good arm to give one helluva wallop to my former self. But, she's already done it for me, and he's out cold.

"I thought you'd find a new submissive," she says, her voice quivering. "One who could make you happy." A tear drops down her cheek and slides to her mouth. I lift my hand and wipe it from her lips, now so soft from weeping, with my thumb.

"Do you honestly think, after knowing you, I could ever get another regular submissive again?" She's ruined me for other women. I see no one else. They all vanish in her light.

"She wouldn't give you trouble or smart mouth you." She sniffs. Another tear forming, I catch this drop before is falls. "She'd please you."

"You please me all the time," I whisper. "How often do I have to tell you that?"

"You intimidate me. That's why I keep quiet. I don't know which way your mood is going to go. And, you won't let me touch you, and I want so badly to show you how much I love you."

She loves me... I look away. I still can't allow myself to believe it. I deserve nothing from her, least of all her love. But, here she is, sitting next to me, after all I've done, offering it with a purity and a faith that gives me hope. I've never had hope. Until her.

She unclips her seatbelt, and as if she reads my angst ridden thoughts, shoots at me like a bolt, scrambling into my lap and overtaking me with her light. She holds my face close to hers with gentle hands, imprisoning my gaze.

"I love you, Christian Grey. You may not believe it or think you deserve it, but I do. You have no control over that, so just accept it." No control... None. I am lost to her, in her, this angelic being before me. Loving me without condition. How have I, of all people, been lucky enough to find her, or rather, lucky enough for her to find me. "You're prepared to do all this for me. I'm the one who is undeserving, and I'm just sorry that I can't do all those things for you. Maybe with time … I don't know … but yes, I accept your proposition. Where do I sign?"

It's a yes! I snake my arms around her body, crushing her to me. "Oh, Ana," I breathe, burying my nose in her hair and covering her head with kisses. I have known no joy greater than this. Fuck my success and my accomplishments in business and sport, there is nothing greater I can do than loving her.

We sit wrapped together for several minutes. Holding and healing each other with breath and touch. She is mine again and she'll take me as hers. I would like to give her the world, but sadly, I know what she really wants...

"Touching is a hard limit for me, Anastasia," I whisper, stroking her hair softly.

"I know. I wish I understood why."

I wish I could tell her everything, I really do. But, it's so shameful, hideous... How could she be proud of me at all if she knew who I really am? Long ago, I resolved that no one would know. It would lay buried in the pit of my hellish soul for as long as I drew breath, and I would take it to the grave. But, here she is, and suddenly, I cannot hide, and I don't want to. Not from her. I want her to know everything. I want her to be so close to my soul that it's impossible to tell where one of us begins and the other ends. I want to tell her, I'm just... Scared.

"I had a horrific childhood," I whisper, my voice small and wary, looking for footing in the black of the unknown. I inhale deeply, gathering courage from her strength. "One of the crack whore's pimps …" I see his face, the pocked scars that mar his jaw. I hear the grit in his voice. I smell the lit cigarette; the thick smoke raping my innocent lungs. I cough, choking on the soot and ash. Me, naked, except for an over-soiled diaper that covers my rashed and bleeding behind. I see him looking for an ashtray, then turning to me... I can still see that slow, vicious turn where his hellish eyes capture mine. I can feel the searing in each of my scars. I can hear his shrill cackle as I wail and beg in agony for him to stop as my flesh burns. I know the scent of burning flesh well. And, I know what it's like to call for your mother, and for her not to care. "I can remember that," I whisper, shuddering.

She feels me quake and her arms tighten around my neck. I've never told anyone this. I've never let anyone love me through anything. But, that's what she's doing. There's release in shame unspoken so long, finally finding voice.

"Was she abusive? Your mother?" She asks, and I can hear tears choking her small voice. I hate that she sorrows for me. That she is, in any way, feeling my pain. She doesn't deserve to be burdened with my fucked up life.

"She was neglectful. She didn't protect me from her pimp." I close my eyes, tight. "I think it was me who looked after her. When she finally killed herself, it took four days for someone to raise the alarm and find us …" I remember touching her, trying to wake her. She was so cold. I got a blanket and covered her, and just lay by her, softly petting her hair as I do Ana's right now... "I remember that."

She gasps. I've scared her. I knew this would be too much. Enough, now.

"That's pretty fucked-up," she whispers.

"Fifty shades." She presses her lips against my neck and holds me as much as I will let her, answering my fear with her embrace.

"I bet this isn't how it is for everyone." I muse, closing my eyes. My hand stroking the small of her back.

"I don't know." She exhales softly. Her breath on my neck is so comforting.

"Me, either." I sigh and pull her in as she tucks her head tighter to me.

"Perhaps we could just not know... Together."

My heart stills, welling with an emotion I can not name or place, I can only feel. I have felt nothing like it before. It is good and sweet and it comes from her. It is love that heals.

So, we sit like this, bound tightly, cocooning our bodies, making our way through the dead of night, not knowing what lies ahead or how to get there, but forging forth...Together.

I hold her as she sleeps. Her head snuggled into my neck as her body falls against my shoulder, and trustingly rests in my lap. She is beautiful. But, not beautiful like other women, who effort for their garish flauntings. She is beautiful in the in-betweens. The pauses in her breath that take mine away. Those minutes, just from the morning shower, when she's washed and bare and flush from steam and not yet been seen by the world, only me. When she comes, holding my body to hers, my eyes to her eyes, wordless, just before we separate. When she sleeps. That moment just before the sun pulls her from her dreams and into the day. I lay watching her there, as I do now, in the in-betweens.

We reach Seattle, and although I want to stay with her here, forever, I move to wake her.

"Hey," I whisper softly in her ear, my nose tickling her lobe. She giggles and smiles that smile that cracks my heart. Her eyes flutter, looking up to me.

"Sorry," she sits up, blinking and stretching.

"I could watch you sleep forever, Ana."

"Did I say anything?"

I shut my mouth, grimly, for a moment to tease. Her eyes grow wide, then I laugh, and she playfully slaps my knee.

"No. We're nearly at your place."

"We're not going to yours?"

Oh shit. She wants to spend the night. Fuck. Yes, probably to fuck. Oh god, this is going to be hard. Poor choice of wording. No, you're not having sex tonight, Grey. She needs to see your gift, and you both need to communicate boundaries. But, she looks so sweet and naughty, with her hair all mussed, and her dress wrinkled from being pressed into my body. Maybe we could just make a little love... No, Grey! Not tonight!

"No."I protest.

"Why not?"

Why not? Why not... Why the fuck not?! Fuck. She's so demanding. So wanton for sex. She may attack me, and what will I do then? I don't want to be rude... List off your reason's, Grey!

"Because,... Because..." I can't think. Oh, yeah! "You have work tomorrow." Work? You could do better than that. "You need more sleep than me." That wasn't any better.

"Oh." She pouts.

Those pouty lips are at it again. My dick is saluting them. I'm sure she feels it, she's sitting right on it... Oh. My. God. Stay strong, Grey! It's just her ass on your cock...

"Why, did you have something in mind?" Why did j just ask that?! To torture myself?! If I don't get her off my dick soon, all bets are off.

"Well, maybe." She squirms and stops. Yep, she feels it. She smiles, then, with wicked purpose, starts to slowly move herself on my lap.

"Anastasia, I am not going to touch you again, not until you beg me to." She shifts again. Oh, Ana, please, I want to fuck you so bad.

"What!" Her hip gently brushes my erection and my hands involuntarily clasp the flesh of her thighs.

"So that you'll start communicating with me." She moves to straddle me, her ass stroking me through the fabric of my pants. "Next time we make love, you're going to have to tell me exactly what you want in fine detail." She moves her hand to my zipper and undoes it, telling me exactly what she wants with her fingers, in fine, fine detail. She slides her hand through the opening and strokes my growing erection. I move my hand up her skirt, and brush my thumb along the edge of her panties. She's soaked. That's it. I move the lace to the side and I'm about to finger the the fuck out of her when Taylor calls out-

"We're here, sir."

We both jump. Holy fuck, we forgot about him. I can see his hungry eyeballs peeking in his rear view mirror. I'm sure trying to get a glimpse of Ana's assets. I pull her skirt down hard and fast.

"Keep your eyes on the road!" He does as I say.

Taylor pulls up outside her apartment. I shift a rather embarrassed Ana from my lap, and we straighten ourselves. I climb out to open her door and help her out.

"I have something for you," I say, moving to the back of the car. I open the trunk, and pull out the large gift-wrapped box.

"A present?" I nod. She lights with excitement and I am pleased.

"Did you wrap this yourself?" She notices the two different wrapping papers intermingled, and a tear at then end covered in a thick hide of masking tape. I ran out of doves and lace, and had to use Christmas rolls Mrs. Jones had left over. I thought the holly looked more romantic than reindeers with guitars, so I went with that.

"Yes, I threw some paper and bows together..." She smiles.

"Well, this is the best wrapped package I've ever gotten." Was that a sexual innuendo? No, stop thinking with your dick! She has to be kidding about the wrap job, but she looks so sincere and sweet. I'm delighted she likes my package.

I duck my head down, shyly. "Thank you." She moves to tear the end. "Open it when you get inside."

"You're not coming in?"

Why does she keep torturing me?! Begging me to spend the night! Pleading with me to fuck her on her kitchen table and then again on the counter top and then once more in her shower...

"No, Anastasia."I bite my tongue, so I don't shove it in her mouth.

"So when will I see you?"

In five minutes in your bed... No! "Tomorrow."

"Oh..." Oh?

She looks down and away, then opens her mouth like she's trying to tell me something, but can't. Oh fuck. What can it be?! Has she changed her mind since she stepped out of the car?! Is she telling me goodbye?! Has love faded so fast?! Does she really not like the wrapping paper?!

"My boss wants me to go for a drink with him tomorrow."

Oh. Oh... Oh, fuck! My face turns to stone. Every muscle in my body fills with rage. Fucking Jack Hyde. "Does he, now?" I clench my fists, so I don't punch a hole in the trunk of the Audi. Memories of this sexual predator in tweed waving her off this afternoon consume me.

"To celebrate my first week," she says, obviously trying to brush it off. But, brushing means there's something to brush, and brushing only fans my flames.

The fucker wants to celebrate, huh?! Yeah, her ass and tits decorating his office. He wants to get my Ana drunk so he can have his way with her! Why does everyone keep doing this?! My teeth bite together in fury. He thinks her can get away with this! But, what he doesn't know is that wherever there's a drunk Ana, there's a mad as hell Christian close behind!

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"I could pick you up from there." Pick you up? Ha! I will be right next to you the entire time, glued to your side. I have to be on my toes with these societal deviants! It's like my job now.

"Okay … I'll e-mail or text you."

"Good." I'll let it go. For now. I don't want anything, especially not Jack Hyde's crab ridden balls, to spoil what good came out of this evening for us.

I walk her to the lobby and wait while she searches for her keys. As she unlocks the door, I cup her chin, and tilt it back, my mouth so close to hers. God, I want to kiss her. But, no, I know where that will lead. Probably straight to her living room floor. Instead, I run a trail of kisses from the corner of her eye to her mouth. She moans, and I have to stop or it won't be the living room hardwood, it'll be against the front door.

"Until tomorrow," I breathe.

"Good night, Christian." She sounds needy. I have to admit, I like leaving her needy. Especially, when I'm not with her. She'll miss me, I hope.

I smile, and she returns one of her own. We stand there for several moments, neither one of us wanting to look away. Saying nothing. Doing nothing. Connected in the in-betweens.

"In you go," I order, and she makes her way inside. "Laters, baby," I call out. She smiles and blows a kiss the I make-believe catch in my palm and bring to my lips. She then shuts her door. I wait for a moment, listening for the turn of the dead blot.

"Lock it-" I call through the wood as I hear the click. "And, don't roll your eyes!" I have to laugh. As ever, Miss Steele...

I turn on my heel, with an extra bounce in my step, and make my way back to the car. I am pleased that I know tonight she is safe, she is warm, and again, she is mine.

There's a buzz on my blackberry as I arrive at Escala. An email from her. She loves my gift! I melt into the seat. We banter, like we do, and all is right with the world again. I leave her with three simple words- Dream of me... As I fall asleep that night, in the submissive bedroom with her things surrounding me, I dream of us, lost somewhere, together, in the in-betweens.


	10. Chapter 10

"Christian?" She answers her phone, foggy, robbed from dreaming by my call. Her just woken voice is soft, and edged with rasp. It's so damn sexy. I'm getting a hard-on, lying here, in the submissive bed.

"Good morning, Miss Steele."

"It's still night."

I look at the clock. Digital numbers glow in the blackness of the room that dawn hasn't cracked yet.

"Technically, it's morning."

"I guess if you're going to get technical."

"I am."

She giggles, which makes my heart do flip flops, and the edges of my mouth shoot up into the most pubescent grin. I am fourteen and breaking the rules, hoping my mother doesn't catch me, and make me tell her goodbye. Although, I never talked to a girl at fourteen or twenty-four, for that matter. Another first, Miss Steele...

"What was so urgent that you had to wake me, Christian?" I couldn't sleep... I missed you...

"I wanted to make sure you had good breakfast."

"It's 4:30!"

"I'm serious, Anastasia. No bananas!"

"You called me about bananas?!"

She spits a laugh. It's so adorable, I momentarily forget my hostile feelings toward the lengthy, yellow offenders.

"Bananas! Yes! Or lack thereof as part of your future meal choices."

"Are they now the forbidden fruit?"

"Yes."

"Well, you know what Eve did..."

"Don't try and turn me on."

"The Bible turns you on?"

"No, you, naked and sinning, with that apple in your mouth."

"So apples are okay?"

"I am serious about this. I don't find fruit funny!"

"I find you funny."

I curl onto my side, and tuck the phone under my chin.

"Funny peculiar or funny ha-ha?"

"Having this conversation, at this hour, I should say peculiar, but for some reason it's more ha-ha."

"Don't laugh at me, Miss Steele, or I may have to tie you up and feed you, myself.

"What would you feed me?" She asks, putting her raspy voice to good use.

I tuck myself further down into the covers. My erection straining against my boxer briefs.

"Something I know you're craving."

"Why don't you give it me?"

Is she trying to have phone sex with me? She's become so brazen. I bite my thumbnail.

"Oh, Miss Steele, patience is a virtue."

"Coming from the man who took mine..."

"Coming, being the operative word."

She laughs, again. God, I'm so fucking horny. I can't wait until I see her tonight. At this rate, I may take her right in the lobby of SIP, when I pick her up. I'd love to see waving Jack Hyde's expression then. Fucker. But, I must change the subject now. I don't want her pleasuring herself over there without me, even though it is with me. Technically.

"Shall I have Taylor bring you something? He could take you to work."

"I'm taking the bus."

"Believe me, I know all about this bus shit."

"How do you know?"

"You really have to ask?"

"So, it was Taylor following me?!"

"I confess nothing."

"You know, I fell asleep listening to the stalker's anthem on my new iPad, which I love, by the way..." My gift to her. She loves it... I swoon. "And, it seems an appropriate choice right about now- 4:33 in morning!"

"So, we're in agreement, it is morning."

"I'm going back to sleep."

"Don't hang up!"

"Christian-"

"Put the phone on the pillow next to you, and leave it on. I'll leave mine on. It'll be like you're sleeping next to me. Without all the added benefits, of course."

"You are obsessed with me."

I sigh. "Maybe I am."

With a sigh of her own. "And, I'm in love with my stalker. What does that say about us?"

She's in love with me. It never ceases to still my heart.

"We're made for each other."

I can almost hear the smile spread across her face on the other end of the line. I place my phone on the pillow next to me, and turn it on speakerphone. I hear her sweet yawn.

"Good night, Miss Steele."

"Good morning, Mr. Grey."

I grin and listen as she drifts off, her breath soft and calming. My soul comforted just by her being there, with me. And, we lay like this until morning light steals us away. Encapsulated, together, in this beautiful in-between.

"I'm a man living by no rules," I say, pacing the wood floors of Flynn's office, recounting my evening prior with Anastasia. Anastasia... That name never ceases to thrill, captivate, or terrify the shit out of me by the depth of what it makes me feel. I rest an elbow on the mantle of his unlit fireplace, cradling my forehead in my palm. She's had me in a tailspin since day one, and ever since she's kept me thirsting for more. My eyes catch on a rotund little Buddha man, perched on the mantle's edge, that's laughing at me.

"How do you feel about this, Christian?" He readies pen to paper, like a runner waiting for the shotgun to go off, and the race to begin.

"Fucking nervous," I run a hand through my hair as Buddha watches me. "But, alive."

"Alive?" And he's off...

"I can't explain it, but when I'm with her..." I pace again, needing to move to spend the electricity that is pulsing through me, all fuses lit by her, and to simultaneously distance myself from that fucking Buddha. "It's like everything I knew before was just nothing. It's like I was dead, and she's breathed life into my lungs. But, I'm terrified to live, because I've never lived before. And, living means dying."

Flynn continues to write, and the Buddha, caught by my eye's corner, continues his merciless mock.

"But,..." I turn quickly, my shoes scuffing the polish on his floors, and kicking the corner of his knotted artichoke green rug. Whoever picked this eyesore should be shot, but my angst is too great to be concerned with Flynn's questionable choices in office decor. I hold my hands up to the heavens, blocked by a popcorn ceiling that's crying to be liberated from the seventies, as a proclamation and plea for mercy. "Anything can happen!"

"Anything?"

I look him dead in the eyes. Mano y Mano.

"Anything."

"Tell me about this 'anything'." He examines me with hawk eyes as I lay prey.

"She's not my submissive, for one." I pace.

"Yes... And two?"

"There is no two."

"You said there was one, so there has to be two."

"You think I know what the fuck I'm saying?!" My paces quicken as I move corner to corner, my feet getting in my own way as I cross. "That's just it! I don't know what the fuck I'm doing! I have no control! I can't just fuck her, and flog her, and tell her to make my dinner, and sit there with her eyes down. We have to... " I nearly choke as the word escapes my froggy throat. "Talk."

"You don't like talking to her?"

"No, I love it. She's smart, and witty, and she really makes me laugh..." There is nothing more enjoyable, or more delightfully exasperating, than a conversation with the ever surprising Miss Steele.

"Then, what's your trepidation?"

"She thinks."

"And?"

"No woman has ever done that before!"

"Her thinking troubles you?"

"It's what she thinks about me that concerns me."

"How so?" He puts a finger to his lip. That's never a good sign. The last time he did that was when I told him about the sub I tied, too tightly, to the ceiling in rope play.

"John. You've known me a considerable amount of time now. I'm not a fun guy."

"Oh, I don't know. You've provided me with countless hours of entertainment." He removes his finger from his lips, and flashing teeth, belly laughs at me. He and Buddha are a two of a kind. Fuckers.

"I don't talk well." I add, with a grimace.

"You're talking to me quite well."

"But, you have a penis." I say.

"Is that the criteria for conversation these days?" Fucking comedian.

"No, what I mean is...You're not a female. Not one with long legs, and blue eyes, and a smart mouth..." I get lost momentarily in legs, and eyes, and that mouth... That mouth all over me... I want to fuck that mouth... Snap out of it, Grey! A psychiatrist is watching you! "I have a hard time finding words around someone I have these uncontrolled feelings for."

"You mean a woman that you are in love with?"

I still don't think it's right for a soul as vile as mine to love one as divine as her, but I nod. Because, truthfully, that's what this is. Love.

"I've never dated. The most I ever did with a sub is buy her panties that I could see myself whipping her in. Or take her to get her hair done, and her vagina waxed, so she'd look the way I wanted her to look. For me. Everything was for me. For my pleasure. And now-"

"And now it's not?" He's trying to rope me into something, I can feel it.

"That's the crazy thing. I get more pleasure out of pleasing her, just for pleasing her's sake."

"For example?" He looks so fucking delighted as he kicks a foot over his knee. Fucking roper! He tears off a sheet from his notepad and stuffs it into my thick file on the desk.

"A plaited riding crop. She had a dream about me and this riding crop. Let's just say she woke up,... Pleased."

He smiles. He better not be smiling thinking of Anastasia having an orgasm, or I'll beat the shit out of him, right here and now. I don't care if he has the ability to cast me into an asylum, and drug me up until I don't know my own name. But, I hold off on my attack. I suspect his smirk is directed at me.

"Well, I immediately searched high and low to find one, exactly as she described, just to please her, and in turn, it delighted me that she would be pleased with me."

"You like riding crops, though."

"Yes, but I didn't think of it!"

"So, you bought it primarily for her pleasure?" What isn't he getting here?!

"Yes! And, I had no control over it. It's like I just did it involuntarily. Like the second she said jump, I said how high. and doubled that, just to impress her." I pause, wiping my brow. "That's what a submissive does for a dominant!"

"But, you don't have that kind of relationship."

"No..."

"Do you want to stop doing these things to please her?"

"No! Don't you see? That's the whole fucking point! I don't want to stop. I want to keep doing things to make her happy because..."

"Because you love her..."

There's that word again.

"Is that what love is?"

He smiles, like he's looking at a little boy lost on the playground. Maybe he is.

"We've established that she is not like the other women you've had sexual relations with."

"Most definitely not! And, I'm glad." I clench my dampening palms into a fist. "I just fear..."

"Go on." Another sheet, make that two, ripped off and added to the file.

"I've never asked a woman who I'm having sex with her opinions. I mean, what if we don't have the same views?! She wants us to go on movie dates." I slam my palms on his desk in an act of pure desperation. "What if we don't like the same films?!

"So, you think she'll leave you if she likes a film and you don't or vice versa?"

"There are no rules, so I don't know!" That fucking Buddha! I move to the mantle, not able to take his torturous glee in my suffering anymore, and turn the little shit around. Face the wall, fucker!

Flynn just watches me as I battle the Buddha, expressionless, but still taking notes.

"You have a great fear of her leaving?"

No shit, Sherlock. "I can't live through that hell again. So, if she wants no rules, there will be no rules."

"So, If it were up to you, you would still want rules?"

"That's all I know."

"What if she came to you, and said she changed her mind? That she wanted to be your submissive?"

"That would never happen." I scoff.

"But, say it did."

I stand still, staring at the backside of the Buddha for a moment. Even his ass is laughing at me.

"I'd tell her, no." I mutter, truthfully.

"Why?"

"She'd hate it. She doesn't have a submissive bone in her body."

"So, you're thinking only about how she'd feel?"

"Yes. Well, no..." I think about Ana as a submissive, and I shudder. "I wouldn't want it for her, either. She's too good for my fucked up shit."

"Why do you say that?" Is he a fucking idiot? Has he not been listening to me for the past two years?! Do I have to spell it all out for him?

"Because they were all meaningless. Every one of them." I look out the window, and into the sunlit morning, and wonder if she's okay. If she did as she was told this morning and ate. If she got to work safely on that bus... "She'd be stuck up in that room for one thing. And, God knows I couldn't stay downstairs, away from her..." I move from the window, and edge the desk, pausing momentarily. "I've been spending every night in there while she's been gone just to be close to her."

"You've been sleeping in the room you set aside for your submissives?"

I nod. He writes. More food for the file. It's a fucking harvest feast today.

"And, I wouldn't see her or talk to her during the week. How could I possibly do that?!" I start pacing again, and Flynn's eyes follow. "Which, I don't know why the fuck I ever made that a rule. It wouldn't happen. I'd be parked outside her work, or camped out on her doorstep..."

"So, you want to see her everyday?"

"Every day?" That's a joke. "Every fucking minute! It eats me alive to be away from her. I miss her." I hang my head, just staring at my shoes, as they tap the tiles beneath the fireplace.

"So, what you're saying is that you don't want the rules, either."

I think for a moment, and then slowly shake my head. "No. No, I don't. I just don't know how to do this..."

"Christian, I think her leaving put something to rest for you. For the first time, you feel love, and in turn are able to give it. And, that can be scary. But, that's the leap of faith you must take..." Those are the fucking words of wisdom I pay him for?! I could've eavesdropped on two teenage girls at lunch and gotten better advice.

I sit down on the couch, elbows propped on my knees, and bow my head in my cupped hands.

"I've been thinking some really fucked up thoughts lately." It's a confession, and a cry for help.

His ears perk. "What kind of thoughts?"

"About her. About me. About us." The word 'us' still new to my tongue, but it tastes so sweet.

"Continue..."

"I had a dream last night. Not a nightmare, a real dream..." It was shortly after I fell asleep next to Anastasia on the pillow propped phone. The first sweet dream I've had in... Ever. "We were dancing in a meadow overlooking the sound. Flowers and grass tangling at our feet. We were barefoot, and she was in this long, sheer, linen dress..." My thoughts lost on just how beautiful she was. "All I wanted to do was hold her, and dance like that, forever. But, she stopped, and leaned into me, and whispered in my ear..." It was as if I could feel her breath on me as she smiled against my cheek. "It made me so happy..." A tear born of some unnamed emotion catches in my throat, and chokes me. I stop.

"What did she say?"

"Yes..." I wistfully recall.

He sits back, not writing now. Just caught up in listening.

"What was the question?

I stand up again, and return to the window.

"I've been planning things, in my head, like we have a real future. Not just dating or fucking..." I look over to him. "A life together."

"A life together?"

"When I held her hands last night at dinner, I looked at her fingers, and I had this thought..." I watch the wind blow through the trees, and children, freed by summer, playing in the park. "I envisioned a ring I'd put on her finger."

"An engagement ring?"

I nod, slowly, apprehensively. "I know it's crazy, I could never be a husband, or a father..." I watch as a little boy chases a little girl up a hill, and they tumble down, bellies clenched in carefree laughter, as they roll in dandelions.

"You've thought of children?" He sounds in a state of shock. Join the club, buddy.

"Just for a moment..." I think back to the husband and wife with the ice cream cones and the little boy, and how she touched him like it was nothing. "Until I remembered who I am." I cringe, my stomach knotting and strangling me.

"You don't believe you can have that with her?"

"She doesn't know the worst of me. When she finds out, she'll go."

"Well, I wouldn't be so sure. She's been rather unexpected thus far."

I smile, and audibly exhale in release. "That, she has."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Christian. This is all very new to you, and to her. You need to walk before you run. Remember that."

I nod, in placation, but he doesn't understand. That's impossible with Anastasia. She makes me want to run as fast as I possibly can toward her, and with her, into our future... You've got it bad, Grey.

I lean over the mantle and put the Buddha back in his rightful place. Let the fucker laugh. I laugh with him.

"I do hope you've had the breakfast we discussed," I type in an email to Ana, as I sit at my desk at work, unable and unwilling to wipe the childish grin off my face caused by her. "It was nice sleeping next to you this morning..." I smile and press send.

A minute later I hear the euphoric Ding-Ding sound. Like Pavlov's dog, I salivate and run to it.

"I'm eating an apple as I type... xoxo, Eve, missing her snake."

I reply:

"I recall Eve was punished after she ate that apple..."

Ding-Ding:

"She was also naked..."

I shake my head, and smile. God, I have missed this. I'm conjuring up a clever reply, laced with sexual undertones, and a dash of charm, when Andrea buzzes me.

"What is it?" I shout into the speaker. Fuck, doesn't she know she's interrupting my flirty email groove?!

"Your mother is on the line." Shit, I better take this. I haven't spoken to her since that dinner. I answer.

"Hello, Mother."

"Well, finally you return my calls." She guilts me with her teasing.

"I'm sorry, I've been rather preoccupied." I look at the glider on my desk, just smiling for no other reason than Ana.

"Well, I hope your preoccupation is coming with you tomorrow night." Fuck, I almost forgot! The Coping Together benefit! I can tell Mother's grinning from ear to ear at the prospect of my plus one. The excitement of me having a girlfriend won't wear off quickly. She's been waiting since the day my voice changed and chest hair sprouted for this.

"I have to double check with Ana, but yes, I believe she will be my date." I say with pride. My first date to a real function. I suddenly get nervous. I hope I'll know what to do, and she'll have a good time. A wicked idea crosses my mind. Those silver balls...

"You sound happy, Christian."

"I am."

"It warms my heart to hear that. She's a lovely girl."

"That she is." I stare at the chair across from me. The one she sat in just weeks ago when she interviewed me. The one no one has been allowed to sit on since. And, I think of just how lovely she really is. I still can't believe she's mine.

Andrea buzzes me again, frantically.

"I'm sorry, I have to go, Mother. We'll see you tomorrow." We'll... As in 'we'... I just referred to us as a 'we'. A boyish smile lights me from within. I shake my head. Walk before you run, Grey. But, I so like the sound of 'we'. I want to run with that.

I hang up and answer Andrea's continuous buzzing.

"You sound like a swarm of bees attacking, Andrea! What the hell is it?!

"There's someone here to see you."

"I don't have any appointments scheduled. Send them away-"

"It's Mrs. Lincoln."

Fuck! It's Elena.

"Uh,..." Shit. I know Elena's watching Andrea as she talks to me, so I can't pretend I'm not here. "Send her in." I grimace, clenching my jaw. This is the last thing I need to deal with today.

She saunters in, all in black, with her shimmering blonde mane freshly blown. She's overly perfumed, and made up with red lips, and a clutch to match. Typical.

"Elena, what are you doing here?"

She smiles, and moves in to give me her standard double cheek kiss, but I pull away, quickly, to avoid marks from her lipsticked pout. Her smile flattens, she isn't pleased.

"I thought we could have lunch." She eyes me up and down. She knows there's something different about me, she can smell it.

"No, I can't..." Have lunch with you, alone, again! Ever! God, if Ana found out I had another meal with her she'd rip my nuts off. We have no rules, so it could most certainly happen! And, far worse, she wouldn't have sex with me tonight. I can't risk that. I have to get rid of her.

"Why not?" She looks disappointed, but I don't fucking care.

"I'm busy." Please leave! Take a hint! "We'll do it another time." It's a lie, and I know she can read through me. I move to the door, hoping if I open it, she'll be sucked through it. But, I remember, this is Elena we're talking about. She doesn't leave until she's good and ready.

"You could at least have a chat with me."

"It'll have to be quick. Meetings, you know." Buzz me, Andrea! But, all my lines are dead.

The more I rush her, the more she slows. She makes her way around my office, with the slink of a cat. She's about to sit in Ana's chair...

"No, not that one!"

"Excuse me?"

"Nobody can sit in it. It's been... used." By Ana, and I certainly don't want Elena re-marking it.

"What are you babbling about? I always sit here."

"Don't sit on the chair!" I belt out in my harsh dominant tone. It's a warning. Something she can understand. It startles her, stopping her in her tracks. She moves humbly to the sofa and sits there, leaving Ana's seat untainted by her ass. But, I can see Elena eyeing the leather with disdain, trying to figure out how and why her seat was taken.

"I was worried about you after our call on Saturday. And, I didn't hear from you again..."

"I am much better now." I say with a smile, leaning against my desk, griping the edges for support. I don't know why, but Elena, even after all this time, makes me nervous. Not like Ana does. Like she's a lioness and I'm about to be attacked. It's crazy. Even though she's helped me become the powerful man I am today, with just a look, she can make me feel so small and worthless.

"See, I knew you'd get over that girl."

But, no one will ever make Ana small or worthless.

"Don't call her that girl, I told you!" My voice thunders, surprising us both. "Don't ever disrespect her again!" I realize I'm shouting, and I back off before burning ears are cupped at my door. "We're back together." I soften.

She looks up at me through false lashes.

"Did she come back to you?" She asks, with that familiar glare I knew so well as a boy.

I move to the window, and lose myself in the skyline. Trying to escape amongst buildings that crowd and block the serene ocean view. The sky is bleak right now.

"No, I went after her, and she's agreed to give me another chance, and try again."

"As a submissive?"

I shake my head, turning back to face her. "No, as my girlfriend."

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly that."

"No contract?"

"None."

She sighs, disappointment stitched in her breath. "So, she made you grovel?"

"She didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do, and that's none of your fucking business."

"Christian!" She scolds, standing abruptly. "I'm not the enemy. I encouraged you to see her in Georgia."

"You thought she'd leave."

"She did."

"And, now she's back, and I won't lose her again."

"Christian, you're so tense." She inches closer. "Perhaps she's not giving you what you really need."

"She gives me everything I need." I snap.

"Well, you know I just want you to be happy." Does she? I never wondered before, but Ana has me thinking... No, Elena is a good friend...

"I am."

"Good." She touches my face, and I pull away. She notices, and purses her lips. "Are you bringing her tomorrow night?"

"Anastasia," I say, firmly, reminding her to use her proper name.

"Anastasia," she says, sugaring a begrudging smile.

"Yes."

"Good. I can meet her then."

"She doesn't want to meet you."

"Tell her you want her to."

"No, Elena."

"So, she calls the shots now?"

"Stop." And, she knows I mean business.

She steps back, trying to guilt me with doe eyes. Upset that it's not working.

"Do you not want me there?"

I shake my head. "Anastasia doesn't want you there."

"Well, what Anastasia says goes." She bites.

She steps in and touches my cheek.

"I'm so worried she'll hurt you, Christian. She's not like us. We need different things." We. With Ana, moments ago, it sounded so promising. With Elena, it sounds so vile. In a heartbeat she reminds me of the monster I really am. She has that power. To make me feel, instantly, like that pathetic boy, begging at her feet. It was all I knew before, and now knowing the good Ana brings me, it hurts. How could Ana love me if she really knew all of me? How could her light ever love the darkest of me? Elena reminds me of this. Of who I really am.

"She makes me so happy."

"Good. You deserve to be." I don't believe her.

"Goodbye, Elena."

"I'll call you later."

I nod, and she leaves. I fall into my chair, a miserable excuse for a man. Reminded of this by the woman who mercilessly used to control him. Just as I'm about to sink further into my chair, and wallow in self pity, I hear the Ding-Ding sound. I jump up to look at my screen.

"Twiddling my thumbs here, what are you doing?"

Ana. I smile, and begin to type.

"If you worked for me, I could think of much better use for your thumbs..."

And again, without even knowing it, Ana picks up my broken pieces, and puts me back together again, making me whole. Making me believe that a broken little boy could possibly deserve more.

I can't wait to see her tonight...


	11. Chapter 11

_**Thank you so much for all your reviews/follows! xo**_

"I don't care if a bus full of nuns is broken down and blocking the road, I need to get to the bar!" I shout at Taylor as we sit, stalled in a traffic nightmare from, ironically, hell, waiting for the bus to be towed, and the sisters to scatter back to mass and out of my life. At this rate, I will be fifteen minutes late to meet Ana. Fifteen minutes for Anastasia to be alone with that scrotal fungus, Jack Hyde. Fifteen minutes for him to slime his serpent tentacles all over her alabaster skin, claiming what is now mine again. Fifteen minutes for her to drink, like she has a habit of doing with predatory men, lose all her inhibitions and pass out, allowing him to have his way with her. And, all because a bunch of sisters wanted to see the Space Needle! I knew no good could come from a bus.

"You knew it would be a drive," Taylor says in an 'I told you so' manner.

"I don't need conversation. I need street action!"

"I'll alert you when we progress, sir"."

Is he sass-mouthing me? Who's fucking paying _who,_ here?! It is all my fault we're late, though. I kick myself, literally. My knocking knees are knocking so much that my right foot kicks the ankle of its opposing counterpart. Fuck! If I had listened to Flynn, and walked before I ran, I wouldn't be sitting on this highway, living this 'Sound of Music Gone Wild' nightmare, because I sure as hell wouldn't have called Olga Kelly this afternoon...

"I don't want this getting all over town." I whisper, conspiratorially, into my phone, as I peek through my office door at GEH to make sure Andrea or that nosey mouse Olivia are nowhere in earshot. The coast is clear. Too clear. Where the fuck is everyone? They should be working, not fraternizing at the cappuccino machine. That's the last time I give them office perks. Whatever, I'll let it slide, as long as no one knows what's going on in my office between me and Olga Kelly.

"Are you still there, Mr. Grey?" Ms. Kelly, realtor extraordinaire, asks from the other end of the line, startling me back to realty.

I whisper...

"I may be interested in purchasing some land with someone in the not so distant future, if they agree of course. Which isn't for sure, but I really think it's headed in that direction." I close my eyes, hoping against all hope.

"You're interested in new property?"

"Yes!" Are your clip-on earrings blocking your hearing? That's what I just fucking said! I can't believe I said it. But, I did!

"For business?"

"No, it's very, very personal." My whisper gets softer.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm having trouble hearing you."

"It's personal!" I up the volume, only to quiet it again. I can see the top of Andrea's tight, high set bun through my little window. That one has ears on her. "That's why we need to keep this between you and me, Ms. Kelly. Don't let this swim in the pool of incestuous office gossip, if you know what I mean."

"I'm very discreet. I've sold homes to prominent people in similar situations." She's whispering now, too. I'm not quite sure what situation she thinks I'm in that's similar to anyone else, but I go with it.

"Who?" I ask, testing her.

"I can't tell you that."

"Good." She's trustworthy, I like this.

"Now, where were you thinking of buying?"

"Along the coast." I've sailed up and down the sound countless times, dreaming one day of living there. But, alone I was sailing, always reminding me how alone I really was. I told Elena about my dream once. Her response was 'men like you don't live in houses like those'. I believed her. And, I never allowed myself to dream of those houses again, until I met Ana.

"I have a state of the art bachelor pad right on the water with a large dock for a good price. It's very private. No one will see who you're with." What the fuck is she talking about? I don't care if people see me with Ana once she knows she owns the house. In fact, I want everyone to know Ana's mine.

"No Bachelor pad! Something more feminine."

"For you and your... Partner?" She emphasizes partner with an odd sing-song lilt.

"I'm not sure what you're asking." Does she think I'm gay?

"I think I know what you're asking and other prominent men have asked that of me before." I can almost hear the wink in her voice. She definitely does.

"I don't think you understand. I want a home that a man and _woman_ couple can start a life in, and that can be used for other... smaller members, who may or may not come along, a long, long, long time in the future..." A long time! Decades, perhaps. The fact that I'm even thinking it's a possibility makes my sperm curl.

"Well,..." She hems and haws. What's with all the hemming and God damn hawing?! She's a realtor! Just show me a house! "I'm not supposed to say, but..." But? Get on with it! "A huge fixer-upper estate, with the absolute best view in Seattle, is about to go on the market next week. 12,000 square feet, six acres of land..."

"That sounds perfect."

"Would you like to see it?"

"Yes! Next week?"

"Oh, dagnabbit." Dagnabbit?! What is she a fucking Disney character?! "See, Mr. Grey, this one will be off the market fast." She taunts me with her salesman jargon and the slick swagger of a broad who knows how to make a buck. "Next week will be too late." And I, being the astute businessman I am, of course, fall prey. I've recently discovered that there are no shrewd moves in mergers and acquisitions when the heart is involved.

"Today, then!"

"Four o'clock is my only opening."

"I'll be there." I hang up. Fuck. I have to meet Ana at six. Taylor's going to have to use his combat skills and high tail it. But, we should be fine. How long could it possibly take to get back?

"God damn it!" I shout, standing by my open car door, looking out at the parking lot before me on the I-5. A few sisters gasp at my choice of language and stare, making the sign of the cross at me like I'm possessed of Satan. If they only knew... Maybe I should've used dagnabbit instead. Oh, I don't give a shit, my family's Episcopalian! I huff as I slide back inside the car and slam the door.

"Things seem to be progressing, sir. The nuns are being evacuated." I look out the window and a flock of wind blown habits pour out of the bus doors, and by pour I mean like the last drops of ketchup at the bottom of a glass bottle. By the time they actually make it out, I'll be dead from the heart attack I'm currently having.

I pick up my cell and dial Ana. It rings and rings and rings and fucking rings until I hear her voice...

"It's Ana..."

"Ana!"

"Leave a message." Beep.

Her voicemail. "Fuck!" I hang up, but the 'fuck' was probably recorded before I did. What is she doing?! She's too busy to look at her phone?! Busy with what?! A shiver of terror bolts up my spine. My knee starts tapping up and down, beyond all my control. Thoughts of Jack Hyde celebrating her first week of work with whiskey shots and a strip tease on the bar, ripping through my already borderline sanity. I told Taylor we should've taken surface streets once we reached downtown! But, he said I was being overly paranoid. Overly paranoid?! Well, look who's not being overly paranoid now?!

"That's it!" I shout. "I'm walking!"

"But, sir it's quite a way and all up hill."

"I'm fit. What do I fucking pay Claude for?!"

"You'll have to cross two lanes of highway. It's dangerous!"

"The nuns are walking all over the place!" I look out. They really are.

"Sir, I don't advise-"

"A man has to do what a man has to do."

I take off walking, thinking of what I did this afternoon and how I ran to that house...

The Audi slows as we wind up a drive lined with apple trees anticipating fall. I imagine the sweet fruit being picked from high branches by my Ana as she trusts me to hold her up. She'd drop them into a white wicker basket, giggling as they fall from her palms. I would delight in that sound as she slides back down my body and into my waiting arms. Her fingers would graze my chest and I wouldn't flinch. I'd hold them there, with both of my hands, over my heart.

The path is long and rocky to this place. Gravel kicks from the tires and hazes the air. A driveway, lined with flowers and tall grass- the kind you'd hide away in on an endless summer day- finally leads us to the soft pink sandstone mansion on a knoll, holding court over the lush meadow. It's set deep inside stone walls that protect it from the outside world. It's safe here for Ana. I like that.

The house is mammoth, but still welcoming, somehow. It's the kind of home a father would drive up to at the end of a long day, kids would scramble to see him, and he'd shout 'honey, I'm home' to be greeted by his adoring wife with a chaste kiss and the promise of a warm meal and lovemaking before retiring to rest. I shake my head. Why the fuck am I doing this to myself?! The vision of me as some 50's sit com patriarch is sacrilege. I shouldn't be here, I know that. Shouldn't, not from lack of want, but rather lack of merit. But, here I am, all the same.

Ms. Kelly is quick on her nude pump wearing feet as she rushes to greet me at the car. Her discretion evident as she eyes Taylor, not sure of what she's allowed to say in front of him. Probably not sure if he's my 'partner' or not.

"Oh, he's fine. He'll wait in the car with his music." Taylor gets back in the Audi and readies his iPod. He's spent a lot of time with Puccini lately.

"Come with me," Ms. Kelly motions, pointing me toward the massive dark wood doors, beneath a lofty entrance. A welcome mat that's cleaned many mud ridden shoes is placed out front, kicked cockeyed to the side. "I'll show you the interior." She whispers, making it feel like I'm making a secret drug deal with a fifty year old woman in a Chanel box coat, holding a ring of keys that rivals the janitor of my preparatory school.

The house is barren, but it's been well lived in, that's clear. One can tell from the marked walls and cracked floor boards that smaller members who came along were at play. Nails that held pictures sit exposed on walls, sadly left with no more memories to carry, only the shadows of the frames that stain the paint prove they existed at all. The kitchen has fed many, told by the worn burners from two artisan stoves and smoke scuffed tiles. This warms me to know a family ate well, together. A height chart drawn in the laundry room tells the growth of three children, I surmise, by three different colors of height paths. The last one charted at just past five feet. I touch it, wondering where those children are now and how high they grew. Was their mother kind? Did they have a good father? Do they know that someone else is standing in their kitchen hoping that maybe one day he can have what their father had with their mother. Maybe...

"Who lived here?" I ask, touching the splintered banister of a winding staircase that leads up to a hallway of bedrooms.

"A well to do banker and his wife. She passed on last winter, and their kids didn't want him to stay in this big home alone. You know."

I shudder, for a moment, feeling lost and hopeless for this man that I don't know, but whose life I can see and feel lived out all around me. I can't imagine losing Ana like that. I wouldn't survive. I know that. I would let winter take me, too.

"Let me show you the view." Ms. Kelly says, putting on her broker best smile, trying to lighten the mood that has suddenly dropped. I follow her into the great room, through a wide open pair of French doors, to greet the most breathtaking view I've ever met, next to when I met Ana, of course.

The sky bleeds hues of plum and pink, and the clouds almost look as if they were brushed on the blue canvas sky by God himself. I wish Ana was here to see this. She would love it. This is is everything and everything is what she deserves.

"Breathtaking." It's all I can say, as I try to catch mine.

A wind blows through and the sheeted drapes covering the great room windows billow, startling me. They're like ghosts at play. I watch the wildflowers sway in the meadow, not fearing the wind may break them, but rather submitting to its will. I am awed by this picture. It's exactly like in my dream. I can see her dancing with me in that ivory linen dress and us falling onto the dandelion speckled fields where we wrap ourselves in each other, making love all afternoon in that tall grass, hiding, as boats sail by and sound in the distance. This is where we're supposed to be. I know it, and I don't quite know how I know, but I do. Maybe I always have, even when I sailed by. Maybe I was just waiting for Ana to find me.

The dancing ghosts remind me that there are too many memories here from someone else's life that haunt. She has to share Escala with ghosts of my wicked past. We need a fresh start. She deserves that.

"It's perfect. We can tear the house down and build new. Something ecologically sound. My brother can do it."

"Are you taking it?"

I want to say yes and write the check, but I stop. Fuck, I am crazy! I'm getting way ahead of myself. I haven't even had the courage to tell her I love her. Now, I'm buying a multi million dollar estate and planning for our entire future?! I haven't even told her I bought her company yet! And, she was pissed when I bought her books...

"Uh,.." Walk before you run, Grey... Walk before you run...

My walk turns to a run as I race down the side of the off ramp to Ana. The nuns long gone, I cross two streets that say don't walk, so I run faster. Of course. I ignore the honking and ''fuck you's' coming from angry drivers and pedestrians I've side swiped. This is just like my morning jog, I tell myself, except it's in loafers and a blazer, and I'm possibly on my way to murder someone if his hands are where I think they are. The metaphor of Flynn's warning not lost on me now as I haul ass through downtown.

Over hills, through streets, barreling past people who mean nothing to me towards someone who means everything. In record time, if someone actually kept records of such things, I make it to Fifty's Bar. Irony, what a bitch. I stop for a second, doubled over with hands on my knees, to catch my breath. I wipe my face with a handkerchief, and ready the one-two punch that Claude taught me.

I rush inside the cavernous sports bar, dripping in pendants and jerseys that no true collector would claim as his own. I'm searching through the Friday night regulars for Ana, but I can't see her. The crowd is thick and loud.

A boy dripping in Mariners gear and a body so white it glows virgin, approaches. I rush to him.

"I'm looking for a girl." I tell him, still out of breath.

"Aren't we all, buddy." He laughs like a mule with a sinusitis. "How about a seat? Mule Boy blows his long bangs from his pock marked head. "It's hot wings night." He holds up the happy hour menu with cartoons of smiling chickens holding buckets of wings, like that's supposed to impress me. Isn't that cannibilism?! I shake my head.

"I don't want chicken, I want my girlfriend!" He looks at me like he doesn't comprehend the difference.

I'm about to kick the little shit in the balls I'm not sure he has, when the crowd parts, and I see her. My beautiful Ana, sitting on a barstool at the far edge of the room. Her long legs cross as her pencil skirt shifts, exposing leg. Her dress is lovely, although too short for public consumption. But, I'm delighted to see it's still on and she's not throwing up, drunk. She flips her chestnut mane and giggles... I'm lost in her giggling. But, wait... Who the hell is she flipping and giggling for?! I can't see past the crowd.

She must feel me, because she turns and our eyes meet. That electricity pulsating between us and drawing us together. I see no one else but her,... until bar goers shift and I see him, draped all over her like mange ridden mink. He says something, way too close to her ear for my liking, making her turn away from me and laugh with him. Rage fires in my veins. The 'ha ha ha's' fly out of her wide open mouth in slow torturous motion. No one makes Ana laugh, but me! And, that's really not that often. That makes me sad. Note to self- Google some good jokes and practice their delivery on Taylor.

I fight my way through the dripping fingers of a hot wings loving crowd to reach her. I've never seen so much drippy chicken in one place! Is what my employees do when they're set free on weekends? Oh, I don't fucking care. All I care about is Ana! I find my Ana, just as the predator puts a hand on her shoulder, readying another joke for another 'ha ha ha'. But, his punchline is killed on my approach. He watches as I swoop in, my arm wrapping around her waist as I pull her close to kiss her hair. She smells sweet and I have missed her. Yeah, watch and weep, Cracker Jack, she's mine, and I am staking my claim, so take your nut sack elsewhere. She's already got one!

"Christian," she looks up at me lovingly with those blue eyes. Her cheeks flush. She's excited to see me. I note she's drinking an almost empty beer. I wonder what number she's on. I sigh, at least I'll be the one she vomits on and not Hyde. I'm sure this disappoints him.

Jack shuffles back, watching me.

"Jack, this is Christian," she introduces us to each other, like a referee before the cage match begins. "Christian, Jack."

"I'm the boyfriend," I say with a small, cool smile as I reach my hand out to shake his. I grip it hard. His palm is limp and fleshy from being the jellyfish rapist that he is. He eyes me up and down, and suddenly we find ourselves in a stand off. Man against fish.

"I'm the boss," Jack replies arrogantly. "Ana did mention an ex-boyfriend."

My fist clenches in anticipation of meeting his face. Ana looks up at me, obviously appalled at what just came out of his mouth, but also pleading with me not to go berserk. It takes everything in me to hold back, but I decide it's too early to play my hand and kill him. Plus, Ana wouldn't give me sex tonight if I did. And, it's been six long days in this Sahara.

"Well, no-longer-ex," I reply with ice on my breath. "Come on, baby, time to go."

"Please, stay and join us for a drink," Hyde spits with his cleft tongue.

"We have plans," I smile, pulling Ana closer to my side. I give her a sexually charged wink that he can most definitely see.

"We do?" Quiet, Ana! Let me lead for once!

"Another time, perhaps." Like when I fire your ass! Maybe, I'll pay for your hot wings send-off party then.

I hold out my hand to her. "Come." And, she takes it.

"See you Monday." Ana smiles and waves, overly friendly with the minions from her office. I say nothing to any of them. I just watch Hyde watching her leave with me. He looks like a flock of pigeons just shit on his Maserati. Weep fucker!

I'm relieved to see Taylor made it trough the nun nightmare and is waiting at the curb, like nothing happened. How does he always fucking do that?! Just appear. It's like he has special powers or something.

"Why did that feel like a pissing contest?" She asks as I open the car door for her.

"Because it was," I say with a cocky smile. And, I won! Ha ha ha!

"Hello, Taylor," she says to him, touching his shoulder. My victory short lived. My smile falls. What the fuck is that about?!

"Miss Steele," he says, too happy for my tastes. Why are they always so happy to see each other?! All this happiness is making me mad.

I give him a look and he resumes his steering wheel duties.

I slide in beside her, clasp her hand, and gently kiss her knuckles. "Hi," I say softly. Her hand is the color of pure cream. I want to take each delicate finger in my mouth and suck them. God, I want her so bad. And, she's giving me that look that says she wants me, too.

"Hi," she breathes, her breasts moving up and down.

"What would you like to do this evening?" I stroke her knee, and she slowly uncrosses her legs in response, giving me more access.

"I thought you said we had plans." My fingers move to the inside of her thigh. She gasps.

"Oh, I know what I'd like to do, Anastasia. I'm asking you what you want to do." I travel upward in my exploration. She smiles, nearly glowing, and just as I brush the lace trim of her panties, I pull away to frustrate her. "I see. So, … begging it is, then. Do you want to beg at my place or yours?" I tilt my head and grin.

"I think you're being very presumptuous, Mr. Grey." She crosses her legs, frustrated. I smile. "But, by way of a change, we could go to my apartment." She bites her lip, and I know it's on purpose. She's trying to frustrate me, too. My cock twitches in response.

"Taylor, Miss Steele's, please."

"Sir," Taylor acknowledges and he heads off into the traffic.

"So how has your day been?" I ask.

"Good. Yours?" Why the short answer? This is highly suspicious.

"Good, thank you."

She grins at me and I grin back. I'm aware that we are mindlessly grinning at each other. I'm also aware I have no control over my lips.

"You look lovely."

"As do you."

I'm reminded that Jack Hyde saw her looking this lovely... This stops my grinning.

"Your boss, Jack Hyde, is he good at his job?"

"Why? This isn't about your pissing contest?"

"That man wants into your panties, Anastasia." I torture myself thinking of what kind of sick fantasies he conjures up in his mind about my girl. If they're as sick as mine, I'm going to be sick.

She flushes, then looks nervously at Taylor. Why the hell is she looking at Taylor?! Oh, she's embarrassed to talk about panties in front of him. Well, that's a good thing! Taylor doesn't need to hear about Ana's panties, he only needs to purchase them. I think I'll send Gail next time...

"Well, he can want all he likes … why are we even having this conversation? You know I have no interest in him whatsoever. He's just my boss."

"That's the point. He wants what's mine. I need to know if he's good at his job."

She shrugs. "I think so."

"Well, he'd better leave you alone, or he'll find himself out on his ass, kissing the pavement."

"Oh, Christian, what are you talking about? He hasn't done anything wrong..." She trails off. What?! Why didn't she properly punctuate her statement?! That should've been an exclamation, not a 'dot dot dot'! What isn't she telling me? Has he already claimed her panties as his own?!

"He makes one move, you tell me. It's called sexual harassment. I'll have the book thrown at him." Along with the fist I should've thrown at him earlier.

"It was just a drink after work."

"I mean it. One move and he's out."

"You don't have that kind of power."

I cut my eyes away. Oh shit, here it goes. Maybe if I can't see her, she can't see me...

"Do you, Christian?"

Shit, she sees me. I smile, trying to deflect her anger with my boyish charm.

"You're buying the company," she whispers in horror. Charm is not working...

"Not exactly," I mutter, which is technically the truth.

"You've bought it. SIP. Already."

"Possibly..." When will this questioning end?! Is there no escape?! I think I can see Taylor smirking at my anguish in the rear view mirror. I think he likes that I've met my match.

"You have or you haven't?"

"Have." I shout, like a criminal confessing under duress of inhumane torture. Fuck, she should be a lawyer or a terrorist interrogator.

"Why?" she gasps, appalled.

Think of something cute and witty, Grey!

"Because I can, Anastasia." From the look on her face she doesn't find it either. "I need you safe."

"But you said you wouldn't interfere in my career!"

"And I won't." Only in your panties!

"Christian …" she says my name like I'm reduced to age five and I've stolen cookies from the metaphorical jar.

"Are you mad at me?" I go with it and put on my five-year-old pout.

"Yes. Of course I'm mad at you." She seethes. "I mean, what kind of responsible business executive makes decisions based on who he is currently fucking?"

Did she just say that?' How could she? I just bought her a house. Oh yeah, she still doesn't know that... I open my mouth to say something, but fearing I'll say the wrong thing, I close it again. I decide to brood, instead. Women respond to brooding.

But, not her. She doesn't like me at all right now. She just glares at me. I don't like when Ana doesn't like me. Fortunately, our uncomfortable car journey isn't stalled by nuns and we reach her place quickly. Taylor pulls up out front. Before I can unbuckle my seatbelt, she darts out of the car.

"I think you'd better wait here," I say to Taylor, tripping all over myself to catch up with her.

She's struggling to find her door keys as I come up behind her. "Anastasia," I say calmly, so as not to upset her further, but I think that upsets her further.

She turns to me with a look that Satan would fear. Think fast, Grey!

"First, I haven't fucked you for a while—"

"Six days." She's been counting. I grin.

"Men have been known to die from six days of this affliction."

She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes, which makes my affliction all the more dire.

"And, I wanted to get into publishing." You really are selling it. Good job, Grey! "Of the four companies in Seattle, SIP is the most profitable, but it's on the cusp and it's going to stagnate—it needs to branch out."

She stares frigidly at me as I sweat bullets.

"So you're my boss now," she snaps.

"Technically, I'm your boss's boss's boss." I grin. Again, the boyish charm thing not working.

"And, technically, it's gross moral turpitude—the fact that I am currently fucking my boss's boss's boss."

"At the moment, you're arguing with him." I remind her, with a wicked grin.

"That's because he's such an ass," she hisses.

"An ass?" I open my mouth, feigning shock.

"Yes." She's trying to stay cross with me, but her giggles are bubbling forth.

"An ass?" I repeat. My lips twitching up into a smile.

"Don't make me laugh when I am mad at you!" She shouts, then bites her lip.

She wins. Everything.

I lean in, close, nearly touching her perfect mouth with mine, but, stop and nuzzle her hair, inhaling deeply the intoxicating sent that is, hopefully still, all mine.

I pull back to look at her. She's so gorgeous bathed in the evening light. "Are you going to invite me in, or am I to be sent packing for exercising my democratic right as an American citizen, entrepreneur, and consumer to purchase whatever I damn well please?"

"Have you spoken to Dr. Flynn about this?"

I laugh. Oh boy, if she only knew how many of his commandments I'd broken today. "Are you going to let me in or not, Anastasia?"

She's serious for a moment, and I fear she may tell me to go.

"I don't want you to die."

"What?" Was she planning on killing me?"

"From your six day long affliction." She smiles.

I exhale the breath I was holding, and with both hands on her face, I bring her lips to mine. After a brief kiss, I step back.

"As ever, you are unexpected, Miss Steele."

"Back at you, Mr. Grey."

I wave Taylor away. She opens the door and we are inside.

I'll wait to tell her about the house...


	12. Chapter 12

_**As always, thank you for your reviews and follows! I appreciate every one! xo**_

I approach the habitat with caution...

With the slink of a panther, I enter her box. Not the box I'd prefer to be entering with my panther, but rather the place, the size of one, where she currently resides. I've never had a girlfriend before, so I've never had a girlfriend's apartment to contend with. I think it hates me, and I bear my own grudge against this plaster and this paint. These walls watched her cry after she left me, and held her when I couldn't.

But, I must proceed into this foreign land despite diplomacy issues...

The pads of my loafers kiss the floor, marking my strides with gentle tip-taps. She watches me as I circle, taking in my surroundings over and over again, like a caged beast or a puppy dog chasing his tail. I am both. The place is so fucking small, in like eight steps I've covered the entire circumference plus half again. I decide I must find a spot to still myself before I get dizzy, and/or she concludes for certain that I'm completely insane. Do I stand by this wall or that? Do I lean, sexy-like on the water dispenser? Or maybe sway from foot to foot with a casual palm draped on a chair that belongs to the three piece dinette? This is difficult. I've never been so uncertain of where I stand.

She shuts the front door, and with a creek and a click, we're locked inside...

I gulp. I don't know where to put my hands, either. I want them on her breasts, but I resist, thinking that's not appropriate etiquette the second the door closes. This isn't my playroom. I can't just tell her to kneel naked in the corner, blindfold her, and flog her nipples silly. God, that would be so hot... And, I spot she's got a good little corner... We could just remove the pot of artificial sunflowers and the decoratively placed garden hoe... No, Grey! Get it together! Girlfriend's apartment! No moving of sunflowers or hoes! Make conversation!

"Your floors are wood," I say, staring at the ground, painfully stating the obvious. That's my fucking comment?! I want to swallow my tongue and die. But, her giggling saves me. She always does. God, she's so fucking cute. Her little nose scrunches and her cheeks flush. I'm getting wood just watching her laugh at me talking about wood.

"Welcome to my new home," Anastasia says, twirling about. The irony of her introduction not lost on me, considering I just bought her a new multi million dollar estate with an Olympic sized pool, twelve car garage, and room for equestrian stables that I still need to introduce her to. New home... You ain't seen nothing yet.

"What do you think?" She asks, watching me watch walls that I know are watching me. Judgmental bastards.

I think I don't like her word 'my'. I chew on those two little letters that make up that one little word as I examine the paint speckled brick fireplace, which I determine could set the whole place up in flames if the flue hasn't been properly serviced. But, I bypass this death trap inferno for now. It's summer, so the risk is low. No, I definitely don't like 'my'. 'My' is averse to 'we'. And, I want so much for us two 'my's' to be one 'we'.

"Nice place," I mutter. I notice a picture of lizards with popping eyes in some desert that I am sure the photographer took. It's got fucker written all over the sand.

"Make yourself at home." She motions into the air, suggesting I relax or something. How is that even possible?! I don't even relax when I sleep, how am I suppose to relax at this thoroughly un-relaxing time?!

So, I just nod.

I find a spot and stand fixed by a bicycle that's hanging on the wall. Do they ride this thing or is it art? I don't like the idea of Anastasia pedaling on a bicycle in the street. Thoughts of angry cars, and potholes, and deadly gravel paths with muggers jumping out of shadowed areas pummel my brain.

"You have a bicycle," I say low and accusatorially.

"It's Kate's."

I unclench my sweaty fists and exhale sweet relief. I don't care if muggers jump on Kate. I decide that dropping my arms casually by my sides, with fingers free and loose, will make me appear cool and relaxed. Either that or ape like. The jury's still out.

"Kate's parents got this place for her." Good, Kate can keep it and ride that bicycle where the fuck ever while you're living with me in Shangri-La. Kate... Thank Jesus, Joseph, and the fucking fairy contingency that she's out of town. The last thing I need is that voice gnawing on my ear drums. She's like a coked up gnat who doesn't know when to leave the party. I don't know how my brother puts up with it. I'm sure it's purely sex. But, seeing that mouth with all those big, overly whitened teeth around my dick would be a nightmare. I'd be afraid she'd bite. I shudder. But, my brother has no taste, and even less sense.

"Do you want a drink?" She asks, fiddling with her skirt, seemingly unsure of where to put her hands, too. With all this worry about hand placement between the two of us, we should just put them on each other and call it a day. Or rather a night.

"No, I'm not thirsty." I clasp my hands behind my back and stride closer to her. I decide to have some fun. "What would you like to do, Anastasia?" I tease, backing her up against the kitchen counter. "I know what I'd like to do."

"I'm still mad at you." She raises a brow, but it's a weak protest. I lean in further. She gasps as her ass presses into the cold, hard tile.

"I know." I flick my head to one side and give her a lascivious grin. My erection pounding against the teeth of my zipper. Why is it so hot that she's mad?!

"Would you like something to eat?" She asks, panting now. She's speaking my language. Sex and food amongst pants.

I nod slowly. "Yes. You."

I stand close, moving my lips over her neck. My breath bathing skin that I purposely don't touch.

"Have you eaten today?" I ask.

"I had a sandwich at lunch."

Fuck. A sandwich?! Why not just drown my nuts in an ice bath. How can I think about slamming into her when she's dying of starvation?! I bet it wasn't even a real sandwich, either. It was probably a slice of tomato on a saltine cracker. "You need to eat."

"I'm really not hungry right now … for food." Whoa, she turned the tables there. My zipper is now biting into my dick. Thoughts of hunger momentarily dissipate with the need to remove my pants.

"What are you hungry for, Miss Steele?" My sausage in your bun, perhaps?

"I think you know, Mr. Grey."

She purposely bites her lip. It's not innocent. Not. At. All. It's a bite dripping with molten hot lava. I'm surprised she doesn't draw blood, she chomps her flesh so hard. I lean down, almost freeing that lip from her teeth and placing it in mine, but I don't, and this drives her mad.

"Do you want me to kiss you, Anastasia?" I whisper in her ear, sounding out all the syllables in her name in a seductive hiss. My hungry mouth fractionally close to her lobe.

"Yes," she breathes and my cock leaps with such force, he nearly frees himself from the zipper teeth caging him in. It's official, my cock and zipper are at war.

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

"I told you," I say, imprinting my words down her neck with my breath. "I am not going to touch you until you beg me."

"Please," she whispers, with aching want.

"Please what?"

"Touch me." She tips her throat back, and I breathe softly over her chest. She groans, closing her eyes. I think she may come like this. No touch, only breath... Yes, I want to see this. This would definitely be another first.

"Where, baby?" I hover my mouth over hers. Our lips nearly meeting, but torturously not. The electricity between us is nothing short of mind blowing.

A primal, guttural moan escapes her open mouth.

"Come on baby." I blow on the side of her neck.

She's building, about to erupt in an orgasm of volcanic proportions, when it happens. In the heat of this delicious moment, she reaches for me. Her fingers land on my chest and it's like knives twisting through my flesh. I instinctively jump back, leaving her wanton, alone, and breathless.

"No, no." My heart races in sheer panic. It pounds so hard, I fear it may escape my rib cage. Suddenly, I am four and each of my scars are lit with white heat. I've never had to face this. No woman has never been so close. So free to hurt me.

"What?" She pulls herself up, and cautiously inches toward me.

"No." I hold up my hands in reactive defense, and move away from her. But, there's no place to run. These walls have me trapped, preventing my escape. With nowhere to hide, I bury my face in my hands. I don't want her to see my pain. I don't want her to see me so weak and pathetic. I don't want her to see me.

"Not at all?" Her voice is soft, unsure.

I look up from my palms. Her sweet blue eyes almost mothering me with their care and concern.

"Look, Ana." I run my hands through my hair, exasperated. More at myself. Why am I so fucked up?! All she wants to do is touch me. To love me... I so want to feel her hands on me, to share that part of me only with her, but I just can't.

"Perhaps I should find a marker pen, and we could map out the no-go areas," she says, softly.

I look up at her. I'm always surprised when she doesn't run away. Yes, maybe that would work...

"That's not a bad idea."

I reach for her hand and pull it to my mouth, kissing her knuckles quickly.

"Where's your bedroom?"

"Just cut to the chase, why don't you."

The mood lightens as we both laugh.

"That's what they call me. Chase Cutter." That sounds like an action figure, or rather a B level porn star.

"Who calls you this?" She pulls her hand away, and folds her arms. I think she's jealous.

"Only you." I smile, and so does she.

She's so pretty, standing before me in that little dress. I can see the blue lace of her bra peeking out from her bustline. I wonder what her panties look like. They won't stay on for long. God, I want her more than I have ever wanted or needed anything. I can not wait to be buried inside of her, and for her to really be mine again. Just as I imagine fucking her in seventeen different positions in six locations scattered throughout the apartment, a thought ruptures the moment.

"Have you been taking your pill?"

Her face free falls.

"No," she squeaks.

Fuck. Me.

"I see." I swear, all the time and trouble it took to stop using those fucking condoms, and she stops taking it the second she leaves me?! I knew she'd forget. Or, maybe she didn't forget. Maybe she just hated me so much that she really never wanted to be with me again... I sigh. The thought depresses me. "Come, let's have something to eat."

"I thought we were going to bed! I want to go to bed with you." And, with those words, she blows air into my deflated balloon. I have to adjust for inflation. I'm amazed she's still so fired up and ready for sheet action. I like it. The desperation and torment in her voice is sweet operatic music to my ears.

"I know, baby." I smile wickedly. I can not contain myself. I dart to her, grabbing her wrists, and pulling her into my arms. Her body held tightly to mine, I stare with wicked intent into her eyes. "But, anticipation is the key to seduction."

"I'm seduced and I want my gratification now."

"It's no fun to open presents before Christmas."

"Can't I just shake the package?"

"You'd for sure find out what's inside."

"I'll just have to swallow the consequences."

Oh. My. God. That's. Hot. She whimpers, and my erection rises, seconding her motion for consequence swallowing.

"I'll beg," she says, already begging.

"You will." I wink, and just before I kiss her, I let her go completely. She stumbles a bit, catching herself on the dining table, as I back away.

"You don't fight fair. Why are you torturing me?"

"Because I can." I grin. "Where do you keep your food?"

"In the kitchen..." She looks quickly away, and to the floor, twiddling her thumbs. "Normally." What the hell does that mean?! Normally is not normal! There's something fishy with her food, and I have a hunch it's not that she has a tuna filet waiting for me to chow down on. Well, not in the fridge, at least... I must investigate!

I move with bullet speed to the refrigerator, opening the door to find- I gasp in horror- two bottled waters, and piece of rotting cheese wrapped haphazardly in twisted cling wrap. I turn to her, my expression that of a man who's seen war.

"All you have is moldy cheddar!" I lift the offending fromage with the tippy tips of my fingers, so as not to expose myself to the diseased dairy.

"That's Kate's, too." Of course the rotting cheese is Kate's. I bend down and immediately discard it in the waste pail. No mouse would even feast on this cheddar travesty.

I stand, slowly, laboring to relax my twitching palms at my sides, but finding them impossible to still. The itch is too great. I know there's only one scratch that will dull it. One thing that will release this tension pulsating through my veins. I grab Ana's hand and drag her to the door.

"Let's go shopping."

"I've never seen so much food in one place," I say, with hallelujah like awe, as we step through gilded gates posing as automatic double doors. An apron clad lady with salami samples stuck with frilly ended toothpicks immediately greets us, holding out her tray like she's passing h'ordeurves. But, it's not a party. It's a supermarket.

"Don't mind if I do." Normally, I wouldn't accept meat from a passer by, but there's just something about this place. I pop a peppered bite into my mouth. "Ana?" I offer.

She shakes her head, crinkling her nose like she's smelled something foul. Oh yes, food.

"I don't like street meat," she says. What the fuck does that mean? Does she know something I don't? Is that like road kill?

"This isn't from the street." I read the propped up card on the tray. "It's from Tacoma." I give the lady an appreciative nod, and tip her a $100 bill.

"When was the last time you went shopping?" Ana laughs, as I work to pull a cart from the train of other carts it's attached to. She's making fun of me, but I don't care. There's no better heaven I can imagine than a laughing Ana in a world full of food. Well, maybe if she was naked, too... Why the fuck to do they make these carts so hard to separate?!

"I don't remember. Childhood. Mrs. Jones does it all." But, I may start now that I've seen the promised land in all it's triumphant glory. Of course, it would mean I'd have to be among the people. I cringe. All those arms, and hands, and germs swinging about on a regular basis. Do they fucking superglue these things?!

"It's just so big, Ana!" I marvel at our cart, after finally setting it free from the totalitarian pack that tried prevent its liberation. "This could hold so much!"

"Where to, Mr. Grey?" She asks, smiling up at me as I grasp the handle of our Goliath basket with double handed purpose.

"Beef!" It's a declaration, and a promise.

As the wheels roll us to the butcher, a Muzak version of 'The Way You Look Tonight' strums from speakers above. It's light and corny, but there's something so sweet, almost magical, about it on this night, in this place, with her. I look to Ana, who's close at my side. This is nice. So lovely in its simplicity. I'm amazed that this woman, so beautiful and innocent, so everything, is walking next to me.

"_Yes, you're lovely with your smile so warm..."_

I wonder what people might imagine about us as we pass. I bet they think we're married. For sure they know we're in love. That we probably worked a long day, and are stocking the pantry of our modest kitchen for a cozy weekend in. Maybe they think we have kids, or a dog, or we're just fighting our best to keep one single houseplant alive. They probably think we're normal, but painfully I know that's not true. I'm not normal. They surely don't know that she can't even touch me.

"What are you thinking, Miss Steele?" I can't see her eyes.

She gazes up, warmly. This pleases me.

"That I am grocery shopping with Christian Grey," she says with humored amazement.

"Never saw that one coming." I wink, amazed myself. This is the last place I ever thought I'd be on Friday night. I never dreamed it could be this good.

She smiles. Her smile is the death of me, and also the life.

"_And your cheeks so soft..."_

I listen to the instrumental notes as the wheels from our basket skim the linoleum, and watch her. The way she looks tonight... She looks like a dream I don't ever want to wake from.

I stop the cart abruptly, taken in by a display for sun tan lotion, of all things. But, this isn't any display. They've gone all out. The Hawaian tropics plastered on huge cardboard cutouts that promise an endless summer. Sunbathers worship blazing rays, and dance into sunsets colored with beams of fuchsia, violet, and blood orange. A couple weds under a canopy of orchids. Real sand in a box sits out in front with scattered beach balls, and buckets with little shovels for building whatever castle you could possibly imagine. It's paradise in the middle of aisle four.

"What are you doing?" She asks.

I turn to her, and hold out a hand.

"Dance with me."

She eyes me.

"You're insane."

"Yes, but that still doesn't answer my question."

She stares at the invitation of my open palm, then looks from left to right. Satisfied the coast is clear, she takes it.

"_There is nothing for me, but to love you..."_

"I thought you were crazy in that restaurant, but a grocery store?!" I pull her to me, and we begin to move like we do. She giggles. "You're a dancing fool."

"A fool?" I give her a twirl. "Yes, for you."

"We're dancing next to sun tan lotion."

"What are you talking about?" I point to the inflatable palm trees swaying to air blown from a set up fan. "We're in paradise."

She smiles, and places her head on my shoulder. And, as we sway to the final notes, beneath a fluorescent lit sun, it's true. We really are.

"_And the way you look tonight..."_

"What would I do with an eighteen pound rib roast?!" She asks, as I lift it from the case of large beef options, and place it in the cart.

"Eat it." It plunks, and the basket rolls a stretch before I steady it.

"By myself?"

"Yes!"

"How?"

"Make sandwiches."

She rolls her eyes.

"I saw that!" Oh, I so want to spank her. "Anastasia, you need protein!"

"You're right." She smirks seductively, and the cock-zipper war forges another battle.

"Don't start with that or I'll take you right on this beef.

"Oh, I do hope so."

I exhale, exasperated, but fuck I'm turned on. When did she get so brazenly naughty?

"What do you want to eat tonight?" I put a finger to her lips to silence her before she can speak. "And, don't say me!"

She grins, and I fight it, but so do I. Look at us, two smiling fools. I'm sure that's what the elderly gentleman examining pickles like he's a connoisseur of dill is thinking as he stares at us over the jar top of his Vlassick's. Who's he trying to kid? Vlassick's aren't for real connoisseurs.

"How about stir fry?" She asks. "It's quick."

"Good thinking." The faster to the food, the faster to the fuck.

She thinks for a moment. I don't like when she thinks. That's when bad things happen to me.

"Let's split up," she says abruptly, and with such determination it knocks the wind out of me, and my entire world off its access. With those words my whole existence and reason for living comes crashing down. Did she really just say that? Is she leaving me in the middle of grocery aisle eleven?! With that fraudulent pickle man watching?! I thought we were planning sexy stir fry?!

"What?" I ask in a low, horrified rasp.

She looks at me like I grew an extra head. I check to make sure I didn't.

"I'll get the stuff for stir fry, you get the wine and dessert," she says, casual and calm. Two things I am not.

Oh thank God! Tragedy averted. I wipe my brow with my hand. Fuck, now my face smells like that salami earlier.

"Don't go too far." I clasp her arm in warning. "We don't have security here."

"I'll try to make it to produce and back in one piece."

I give her a 'not funny' smile before she takes off.

I look for the wine section, but I'm distracted by the beacon before me that is aisle eight- Canned Goods. Peas and carrots and corn, oh my. Shelves of vegetables captured in their harvested state to be enjoyed for months, perhaps years past their canning date. Stone fruits sugared in their own juices. There are soups with so many density options- smooth, chunky, extra chunky... Broths and bisques. Not to mention the chili! And, I hate chili! But, there's something so satisfying knowing that it comes in so many variations. Before I know it, I'm a man possessed, and the cart is full of illicit canned goods.

I peek around the corner to make sure Ana isn't coming. She'd stop me in my pursuits, of that I'm sure. Once confident, I tip toe to frozen foods and do the same. Pizzas, and tater tots, and Thai vegetable medleys fly into my basket.

I'm about to move on to breads and cereals, when Anastasia approaches from behind, startling me.

"What is all this?!"

The wheels skid as I stop in my tracks, sending some spiced peaches flying.

"Food." I know it's unfamiliar to her, but geez.

"What for?"

"You."

"For what?"

"Your lunches."

So many questions, maybe she should've been a reporter.

"You know we walked here, right?" Oh shit, that's right. In all my basket filling activities, I hadn't thought about pesky logistics.

"Taylor can pick it up."

"Where will I put it all? My apartment is small!" But, not your new mansion... Not now, Grey!

"Taylor is good at putting large items into small spaces." Why did I say that?! I don't want to give her any ideas about Taylor's stuffing abilities. They're warm enough with each other as it is.

I look in her paltry little basket. "That can't be everything!" It holds a couple of bell peppers, and a breast from a chicken who desperately needed implants.

"Are you cooking or am I?" She asks, with a brow so raised it may contact God or space.

"You know I can't cook."

"Then, it's only right for the chef to plan the menu."

"Fair point, well made, Miss Steele."

"Where's the wine?"

"They have nothing." I actually forgot to look. I got so enraptured with pulp variations of orange juice.

"There's a liquor store next door." She motions with her head toward the doors. She has an ulterior motive for sending me off, I can feel it.

"Are you trying to get rid of my basket?"

"Why, Mr. Grey, I would never."

"I think you would."

I can't stop staring at her. The fluorescent lights beam down, illuminating her hair and breasts. We need to get cooking, so we can start cooking.

"You forgot dessert, too, Mr. Grey."

"Oh, I know what I want for dessert." I grin.

Not taking my eyes off of Anastasia, I snap my fingers at toothy teen putting price tags on happiness, or rather mega sized bags of circus animal cookies.

"Yeah?" He looks at me scared. I like that.

"Take care of my basket for me." I hand him $100 bill and he stands, guarding it with his seventy-five pound wet body.

I flash a smile wicked with intent to Anastasia.

"I need to buy some ice cream..."


	13. Chapter 13

_**Thanks for the reviews and follows! You guys are amazing! I would give you all a hug for your support, encouragement and thoughts, if I could. Chapter after this one will be the ice cream scene... xox**_

With a groan, a twist and one careful thrust, the tip is inside.

"It's a lot tighter than I thought," I say, through gritted teeth. Sweat drips from my brow and onto the floor. We've been going for an hour here, and I'm almost dead from exhaustion. But, Ana needs this and so do I.

"I never thought it could fit in there," she says, with a gasp. "Is it supposed to?"

"If it's properly prepared." I twist my body for leverage and plunge deeper. "And, if there's one thing I live for, it's preparation."

"I'm impressed with your preparedness, Boy Scout."

"You haven't seen anything yet."

I urge the length forward with both hands. Slowly, but surely I make headway and press against the area, stretching the cavity to make room for more. I back up, turn slightly, then move forward again. I keep going like this, over and over, inch by inch, until I hit real resistance.

"Why'd you stop?" She asks. "You're almost all the way in!"

"I don't know." I work, but I can't push forward and I can't pull back. This is not good. It's being squeezed with such force, I may never get it out! How could this happen? I measured before I began!

"Just a little more," she says, encouraging me. And to think she was against this, initially. Now, she's a rah rah boom boom cheerleader.

"I'm trying, but this hole can't take any more of this beef!" A low guttural groan, from the depths of my chest, escapes my throat. I pant and puff, trying to move, but all my efforts are in vain. "Oh fuck."

"What?"

"I'm stuck!"

"Would you like me to assist, sir?" Taylor asks, his face suddenly over my shoulder.

With a grimace, I turn my head back to him, and shoot him a glare of death.

"I can handle my own meat, Taylor!"

"Yes, sir. I just think if you move the rack to the the left, your roast would fit between the hens much more effectively."

"I think he's right," Ana says. "Let him try."

"No!" I hold up a hand to silence both of them. "I'll do it." Nobody's touching Ana's rack, but me!

I look to the open freezer door in front of me. The fucker's right. The Cornish game hens are blocking the passageway for the rib roast to fit. I move the rack, separate the sad little headless poultry couple, and the roast is free to slide in between them.

"You were right, Taylor," Ana says, with a clap of her hands. It's like he's fucking won the gold medal for product placement and he's taking his podium. I'm the one with sweat dripping and throbbing pain in multiple areas I didn't think I had. And trust me, I know about pain in some strange places.

"I've had experience," he says, relishing in Ana's attention, and his victory over me. Who the fuck has experience stuffing Cornish hens into tight freezer areas? And, who would brag about it? It sounds like something you'd want to keep secret. There's just so much I don't know about him...

"Don't you have peas to stack?" I ask him, sealing the freezer door, and wiping sweat pooling at my hairline with a dish towel I probably should've checked first. I put him in charge of the canned goods. I don't know why he was sticking his nose in my assigned area. Why did I even call him? Oh yeah, I always call him. That, and we couldn't drag $1,252.17 worth of groceries home without assistance.

"That's done, sir. All of the cans are alphabetized, also." I look to the open cabinets. He has done this, and done it well. Vegetables on one side, fruit on the other. And the soups! I notice 'cream of asparagus' is under A and not C. Not sure if that's correct, but it took thought and consideration. Well played... I never knew he could spell that well or that fast. It's almost as if he's trying to impress Ana with his knowledge of the ABC's. Well, let's start with F, for Fucker.

"That's amazing," Ana says, looking at his cans like he just shit diamonds.

"Not that amazing! They do it at the library all the time." I give Taylor my patented 'cease to exist look'.

"If you don't need me anymore-"

"We don't!"

"Yes, sir." He nods. Miss Steele, good night." Oh, you don't have to worry about her good night. I've got the good in her night all covered. Play your ABC games elsewhere.

"Thank you, Taylor," Ana says too sweetly for my taste, as she opens the door for him. She waves as he exits. Why not just blow him a kiss, or give him a bon voyage hand job?

She locks the door and turns back to me.

"You're not very nice to him."

"I pay him a lot of money."

"That's not an explanation."

"Oh, don't worry about him. He was in the military. He likes conflict."

She shakes her head and moves toward me. I watch her, weary of what she's going to do to me. I've never had one, so I don't know what girlfriends with unrestricted appendages are capable of.

"There is so much food in here! You really should feed the hungry with it."

"I am. You."

She laughs. I don't. She stops, watching me for a moment longer than I can hold my breath. As I exhale my fear, a wicked gleam lights in her baby blues.

"Well, speaking of hunger," she licks her lips, and I don't think it's from want of chicken. "Let's do the stir fry."

Yes, let's...

She's given me a bell pepper and a knife, and I'm not sure what to do with either. I ascertain she wants me to use the knife on the pepper, but beyond that, there is no certainty. I am a man lost at sea without a compass, floating endlessly in the dead of midnight in a tiny wooden boat not made for these high handed waters, hoping for a beacon of light in the distance and the promise of dry land.

"Are you okay?" Ana asks, her voice pulling me away from dark waters and tiny boats. "You were staring at your pepper so serious."

"I'm just...planning."

"Planning what?"

I eye the stemmed red beast before me.

"How to take this thing down."

"It's a pepper, not a wild boar." Is there a difference? At this point they pose me the same ill threat.

She laughs and I mockingly return her gayety, before reeling back to the task at hand. This fucking pepper. But, I can't concentrate. All I can hear is the endless hacking, like an alarm sounding on full blast, alerting me to impending doom.

I turn and watch the hack-tress herself, that is Anastasia, hack, hack, hacking away at chicken on a plastic cutting board with a blade so monstrous, it may as well be a vigilante's machete. Maybe it is, I can't be certain. I'm no purveyor of cutlery, but I know a blade thirsting for flesh when I see one. She slashes through the breast of that bird like she's pillaging a small village and taking no prisoners, only lives. Her hand moves so fast, and the knife's edge dances so close to her alabaster skin. It's straight from a horror show. Only, this blood sport is not a film, it's real life. I gasp!

"Are you trying to your remove all of your body parts?"

She halts her attack and eyes me with a look so quizzical it's not a question, it's a statement.

"There are deadly kitchen accidents everyday," I say, pulling at my hair with a palm that's twitching so much, it could be measured on the Richter scale. "Why, just last week a woman had her hand ripped off by her blender."

"Where was this?"

"Somewhere, I'm sure! Because it happens everyday!" I wipe my brow on my sleeve. I'm sweating again, profusely, through every orifice on my body. I've become a geyser since I met her. If this madness continues, I may have to get Botox shots in my armpits and multiple other target zones. I need to consult with Taylor. "For the love of God, Anastasia, slow your wrists down!"

"I thought you liked my fast wrists."

I momentarily think of her fast wrist action talent. Yes, it's so nice... No, Grey! Stick to the subject at wrist! I mean, at hand!

"Not where a blade the size of Godzilla's larger, scarier brother is involved."

"I didn't know he had a sibling. Did you go to school with him?" She laughs.

"I'm happy you can find amusement at the prospect of culinary induced tragedy, Miss Steele."

She eyes the knife in my hand, and my still unsliced specimen.

"Are you afraid to touch your pepper?"

"Of course not!." I scoff, lifting it up and pitching it from palm to palm to show that I have no fear of Nightshades. "I touch peppers all the time! I'm just getting familiar with this particular one, before I... dissect it."

"Don't tell me you've never chopped a vegetable before."

"Okay, I won't."

"You have?"

"Of course I have... Not." She's giggling at me, it's quite cute. "I told you, I can't cook."

"You're chopping, not cooking."

"Chopping and cooking are the Fred and Ethel of kitchen activities. They just go together."

"Why not Ricky and Lucy?"

"He couldn't cook, either. He was too dashing. They had whole episodes about it."

"About him being too dashing?"

"About him not being able to cook."

She laughs, and it's music. She should laugh more often. I vow to make that happen, even if it is at my expense. Or, Ricky Ricardo's.

"You like fifties TV?" She asks, casually returning to her chopping block, thinking that I'm not noticing. But, if there's one thing I am, it's a noticer. I've got my eye on that fast hand.

"A whole decade named after me. What's not to like?" I grin.

"I think you just like the idea of a housewife barefoot and pregnant, chained to the kitchen."

"Take out the pregnant part, add naked, and you're onto something." I wink.

The pepper is psyching me out. I've been staring at it so long, I feel like we're in a relationship. How can I just cut its head off like it means nothing? I need distraction, or rather a drink. I set my new friend down and move to open a bottle of the shitty wine we bought at the liquor store.

Le Chat Noir. I examine a shadow of a cat sitting on a fence in an alleyway that decorates the label. What the fuck does a cat in an alley have to do with wine? It's supposedly 'good French', according to the sommelier, or rather the guy in heavy denim, manning the counter at Lucky E Liquors. I can't figure out what the E stands for, or what's so lucky about the place, except that destitute drunks can find all their supplies under one roof for rock bottom prices with no judgement. I find two goblets on a shelf and pour Ana a glass of the black cat. As I hand it to her, she suddenly gets quiet and thoughtful.

"What's wrong?" Fuck, I was just joking around about the chained up fifties housewife thing. Kind of. Is she really mad? Doesn't she want to be naked in my kitchen? It wouldn't be just her. I want to be naked in my kitchen, too.

"I was just thinking..." Oh, shit. Why does she always do that?

"About?" I gulp. There are so may thoughts she can think about!

"About how little we know each other."

That's what she's thinking about? Oh my god, what is she saying? That sentence is so vague and open ended. Does she want to know me better? Or, does she know me well enough that she doesn't want to know any more... Is she through with me? I suddenly find myself in panic mode. I mean, more so than five minutes ago.

"You know me better than anyone," I say with with desperate caution.

"I don't know if that's true." I know she's talking about Elena. Fuck! I wish she would forget about her! Elena is in the past. And, my past is becoming more and more distant with each new day.

"It is. Trust me." No truer words have been spoken. I've never shared what haunts me with Elena. She doesn't know about my birth mother, or where the scars came from. She's never slept next to me as I dream of these horrors. Only Ana. I wish she could see that. Then, she'd really know how much she truly means to me.

She smiles, and I think the storm has passed for now as she raises her glass to mine.

"To us," she says. 'Us' sounds so sweet spilling off her tongue.

We clink to the night ahead, and sip.

I nearly choke from the ass like after taste of that wine, or whatever grape flavored acid is posing as it. And, it's not like Ana's ass. It's like hairy truck driver, prune eating, now I've got the runs ass. How can they sell this sewer water in the stores? Why isn't the FDA involved? Now, I know what that cat on the label was doing. Pissing in the bottle!

"You don't like it?

My face must tell the tale of the troubles I've seen. I set my glass down, pushing it to the other end of the counter.

"It's fine. I just want to get back to my slicing."

To hell with it! I need to get shit done, or I'll never get fuck her! I'm sorry little friend, a man's gotta do, what a man's gotta do. I grab my knife and spear my pepper. She smirks.

"Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?"

"It appears I can do something you can't. This is a first."

"Oh, you can do lots of things I can't."

"Such as?"

"Smirking. You're world class." I smile and she returns one of her own.

She sets her knife down and moves toward me, sliding between me and the countertop.

"Here, let me show you." She grabs my blade, and with a steady wrist, she slices the pepper in half, her ass swishing side to side, lightly brushing my dick with every swush.

"Make sure to remove the seeds." Countries could be bought and sold with the way she says 'seeds'.

"Show me." I gulp.

She takes her blade tip and moves it gently over the membrane, drawing its point across the flesh. When she's satisfied with the length of her carved line, she kisses the knife's edge to the base where the seeds sit, lifts them slowly, pulling them to her, and just as they let go, she releases them to spill out onto the countertop. All I can think is, lucky fucking pepper.

"That was really... efficient," I say, my words peeping out from my now non-functioning vocal chords. She shifts her head to one side, giving my mouth access to her throat. I so want to place my lips on her skin and run my tongue along her neck, nipping as I go, but I resist. She has to beg!

"You just have to know what you're doing," she says, knowing full well what she's doing as my erection gains enthusiasm behind her right ass cheek.

She cuts the red bell into fourths, then eights, then I lose count, my dick is so god damn hard.

"You're good," I say, in a low, throaty growl. The animal inside is escaping me. It's been caged for so long. My fingers involuntarily touch her hips, stroking up and down, over fabric that covers her milky skin.

"It's not that hard," she says, with another below the belt swish.

I adjust myself. "Believe me, it is."

She twists her head to look up at me, her mouth partly open. Her tongue runs over the edges of her teeth, then dances like a stripper when the rent's due across her bottom lip. Her front teeth move to brush that same lip, my favorite one, almost biting, but just before they make contact with flesh, she pulls them away. Her mouth hangs open, fractionally, as a slight moan hums in her throat. It's a call of the wild, and my beast howls as my hips gyrate in response. I know I said she had to beg, but her skirt is so short, it's practically begging me to rip it off. I move my hands up her parted thighs-

"Your turn." She pulls away, suddenly. "I have to put the chicken in the bowl."

Fuck. Me.

She moves over to her cutting board like nothing happened, leaving me a hard, panting mess. My mouth hangs open. My brain unable, or unwilling to signal its close. Okay, she's playing like that. Keep your cool, Grey! Never let "em see you sweat!

"You're sweating," she says, noticing the fucking waterfall, formerly known as my dignity, flowing down from my hairline.

Fuck! I hack the flesh of my pepper. I try to emulate what she did, but how can I concentrate on slicing when my erection is slamming into the counter tiles, and she's putting chicken in a bowl right next to me? _Chop. Chop. Chop. Fucking chop! _She jumps at that last one.

"Sorry, I got carried away."

I look at my slices. Instead of of even eighths, they look like a couple of fat ass fourths and a few scrawny sixths whose lunch they stole. And, all of them look like they were chewed on by a wolf.

"Excuse me," she says, scooting in front of me with that ass. Oh fuck, not this again. Or maybe, oh yes... No, Grey! You will not succumb this time! But, fuck her ass feels so nice against my balls. I watch as she reaches up to a high shelf that's holding a wok. She's on her tip toes, her hair brushing my nose as she reaches to grab it, but fails. "Could you give me a hand?"

I'd rather give her a couple of fingers... My eyes not leaving hers, I reach for the wok and hand it to her.

"Thank you, sir." Fuck. She had to say 'sir'! That 'sir' was laced with malicious intent. If we were in court, it would be first degree, aggravated assault. My cock twitches as she moves away, wanting so badly for her assault to aggravate it some more.

"I know what you're doing," I say, as she lights the wok, causing the freshly poured oil to bubble.

"I think it's called cooking," she says, fluttering her eyelashes with feigned innocence. Grabbing another knife, she joins me at my chopping board, peeling and slicing garlic, then shallots, and a scattering of French beans, continually bumping against my groin.

"You're quite good at this," I mutter, putting my pepper slices into a little pile, trying to act as casual and unaffected as a man with his dick spearing through his pants can be.

"Chopping?" She bats her eyes, again. She's batting her lashes so much, she's about to take flight. "Years of practice." She brushes against me again and that's it! My cock can only take so much of this sexually charged version of bumper cars.

"If you do that again, Anastasia, I am going to take you on the kitchen floor."

"You'll have to beg me first."

Oh, so that's how she's playing it. She wants me to beg her...

"Is that a challenge?"

"Maybe."

Oh honey, no one challenges a challenger.

I put down my knife and saunter over to her. Leaning past her, my arm brushing her breast, I switch the gas off. The oil in the wok quiets almost immediately as she begins to boil.

"Put the chicken in the fridge." My voice low, sensual. It's an order, not a request.

Without haste, she picks up her bowl of cubed chicken, places a plate on top of it, and stows it in the fridge. When she turns back around, I'm right there.

"So, you're going to beg?" She asks, flush spreading across her cheeks like wildfire.

"No, no begging."

I stare at her and she at me for a few pulsating, cock tingling moments. When I can no longer take it anymore, I grab her hips, throw her against the refrigerator, and claim her mouth with mine. The groceries stuffed inside clamor as we knock against the door. I'm sure those Cornish hens are bumping and grinding all over that roast. Her hands pull and twist in my hair. It's like nothing I've ever known. That feeling of her touching me, so ravenous and wanting. I need this woman. Now.

I pull back, breathless. "What do you want, Anastasia?"

"You."

"Where?"

"Bed."

Without hesitation, I scoop her up in my arms and carry her into the bedroom, setting her down just short of her bed's foot.

"Now what?"

"You know."

"No, I don't. What?"

"Make love to me."

"How?"

"You know how!"

I shake my head, achingly slow. "You have to tell me what to do."

"I'm calling the shots?"

"The floor is all yours. Or the bed... Or wherever you want me to take you first." I step in closer to her and whisper in her ear. "Tell me how to make love to you. Step by step."

"Undress me," she directs, with heated breath on my cheek.

"Good girl."

I hook my finger inside the opening at the top of her shirt. With measure, I undo each button, one by one, my tongue finding skin as I free it from its silken wrapping. Once completely open, I ease it off her shoulders, letting it billow to the floor.

"Tell me what you want."

"Kiss me from here to here." She points to just below her ear, sliding her finger with erotic ease down the stretch of her neck.

"My pleasure." I follow her directive, my lips delicately tracing the path she just mapped out. Tasting every inch of her sweet, smooth skin.

"Take off my skirt and my panties." I smile against her throat. She's getting braver, I like that.

My hands move over her breasts, and then down the sides of her waist, until I find the zipper at her right hip. I take it between my teeth, and without moving my hands from her ass, I slide it down with my mouth. As soon as I let go, it falls, rippling at her ankles. She steps out of it, as I kneel in front of her. My mouth brushing her there, as my breath heats through the satin of her panties.

I whisper, softly, into her covered sex. "How should I remove these, Miss Steele?" I trace the lace edges of her panties with my forefinger, causing her to quiver.

"With your hands." I look up to her. She's panting. God, she's hot. "And,... your mouth."

I grin and nuzzle her there, feeling a tuft of her pubic hair through the fabric, as I inhale her evocative scent.

"You are ever surprising, Miss Steele."

Hooking my fingers in the sides of her panties, I move my hands around to her backside, where I cup her bare ass, then slowly inch them down and around her cheeks. My mouth travels down her belly as I trail downward to her panty's edge. My teeth biting the fabric at one hip, then the other, sliding them further down her parted thighs. My lips and warm breath skimming her sex as the smooth fabric pulls away, and her satin and lace unmentionables pool at her ankles.

"What do you want?"

"Kiss me."

"Where?"

She points, shyly, to the apex of her thighs.

"Oh, my pleasure."

My tongue's tip finds her clitoris and circles. She gasps.

"You taste so good, Miss Steele."

My hunger for her grows, and I move to explore. My tongue travels up and down the length of her folds, as I relish in her delicate flavor, devouring every drop of sweet honey. I've missed this. Her smell. Her taste. Her. She moans as I find her entrance and start to fuck her with my tongue.

"Christian, please." Her knees shake, as my lips and mouth feast.

"Please, what?"

"Please, make love to me."

"I am." I blow against her clit, and she whimpers. Her legs shake, and I have to hold her hips to steady her and keep her upright.

"I want you inside of me."

I stop, and slowly stand up, not taking my eyes off of hers. She watches my mouth, surely noticing my lips glazed with her sweet wetness.

"I'm still dressed." I shrug, motioning downward to my clothed body.

She reaches for my shirt buttons, and I step back.

"Oh, no-" I say, a plea for mercy edged in my protest.

She nods, understanding, as she moves her fingers to the button top of my jeans. With skilled fingers, she undoes me, sliding the zipper down with her soft hands. She reaches inside the opening she's created and traces the outline of my cock through the cloth of my boxers. I groan as her fingers play. She then slides them under the elastic waistband. I tense, unsure of what will happen next, and where her fingers will move. My tension eased when she moves them downward, peeling both my boxers and my pants down my hips, and bringing herself with them to the floor.

On her knees, only in her bra, she looks up at my erection through her mahogany feathered lashes. This is possibly the hottest thing I've ever seen. But, my eyes don't have long to feast. Without warning, she takes hold of my length with both hands. I inhale sharply.

"What are you doing?" I gasp.

Eyes on mine, she leans forward and licks the dewy bead that's formed on my tip, swirling her tongue around.

"I want to taste you, too." Oh fuck, yes.

She parts her lips and takes my span slowly into her wanting mouth. A low, guttural moan purrs from the depths of me. This woman has no gag reflex, I marvel and praise hallelujah.

"Oh fuck, Anastastia." I hold the sides of her head, gently pulling and kneading her soft chestnut locks, as I push myself into her, matching her rhythm and breath. "Fuck! No more!" I can barely take it. "I don't want to come in your mouth."

But, of course she just doesn't listen. It's as if my orders make her want to disobey all the more. She would be a terrible submissive. Thank Jesus for that. She bobs forward, taking me in farther than I thought was humanly possible. I tap her throat as she holds me firmly, vigorously sucking, while stroking my shaft. Those soft hands are strong and lord are they able. Fuck! I must not explode yet! I pull away fast, lift her up, and throw her back onto the bed.

With the speed of a demon bound for his hellfire home, I pull my shirt over my head and throw it, immediately grabbing for my discarded pants and reaching into the pocket for the condom. God, I hate these fuckers! But, I so want to fuck her!

"Take your bra off." For once, she immediately does as she's told.

My eyes drink her in as she lays gloriously naked before me.

"You're a fine sight, Miss Steele."

I rip the foil between my teeth and roll the condom over my length. Fucking finally! It's been only six days, but it feels like six years of hard served time in a maximum security mental institution.

"Keep your eyes open. I want to see you when you come." She bites her lip. Oh god! I move my hands down her body, squeezing her breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples, making my way down to her thighs. I stroke her knees and kiss them as I part her legs. Hovering over her, I watch her. I am in awe of this beautiful, captivating, spellbinding woman who wants me to make love to her. And, I have never wanted anything as much as I want her. I place my head at her entrance, and with a strong thrust, I push deep into her. She cries out, glorying, as I begin to move.

"You feel so good, Anastasia." She tilts her head back and moans, allowing me access to her throat. I worship it with my mouth, as I fuck her like I've never fucked anyone, and love her the same. She is so deliciously sweet. I want to relish in feeling all of me in all of her. I still, my entire length buried inside of her.

"Why'd you stop?" She looks up to me so wanton, so breathless, so absolutely beautiful.

I brush her hair off her face.

"You're calling the shots, Miss Steele. What do you want?"

She takes my face in her hands, pulling me closer.

"Fuck me however you want, Mr. Grey. I'm yours."

I touch her lip, softly. It's a touch of love, and also of reassurance that she's real.

"Yes, mine."

I start to move again. Covering her with my body, I can feel her vibrate beneath me between each thrust. She's close, I can feel it. I know her body so well, and I know what it needs. I hold her arms above her head, against the bed, and pick up my rhythm. This is fucking. This is lovemaking. This is everything. She cries out my name, and it's sweet, beautiful music as she comes undone beneath me. This is my undoing. With a call of her name to the heavens, I explode inside of her. Exhausted and sated, I find collapse and rest on her chest. And, we lay like this for several glorious moments, quiet and vulnerable, saying everything with nothing, in our own private little in-between.


	14. Chapter 14 Part 1

**Here is the first part of the Chapter... Ice Cream Scene will be posted over the weekend. I've also added and re-tooled Chapter One a bit, if you want to check it out. Thanks for all your support and encouragement! xo**

_When I took the quiz in Cosmopolitan, I got this answer: 'Lovesick Fool'. A bobble headed cartoon Cupid, not wearing pants, pointed his arrow at me, accusatorially. Words typed in a neon pink, heart shaped bubble, blown from Cupid's inflated kissie lips told me- 'Girl, you've got it baaaaaad'. I think, perhaps, they are right. _

I don't want to pull out of her. My six long days thirsting in the desert are over, and I have survived. Barely. She has quenched me. I want to be this close forever. I cling to her body and hold her beneath me to savor this for just a moment or two or a hundred longer. We are a tangled mess of just fucked hair and twisted limbs, completely wrapped in sated bliss and each other. Those six days without her, the worst of my life, I never want to know again.

_How many times a week do you make that sweet love with your squeeze? _

_A) 0-1 B) 2-3 C) 4-7 D) 8-Infinity and Beyond_

_Wait... People actually answer A and live to tell about it, or is that just thrown in for the B's to feel better about themselves and buy subscriptions? Is fucking counted as 'making that sweet love'? Do multiple times, in fast secession, in the same general setting count as separate sweet love makings with said squeeze, or just one big general fuck? A squeeze sounds derogatory, like a lemon. Ana's no lemon, she's like a peach or an exotic guava. Lastly, we've been broken up for six long days, does that count in our average? Oh fuck it all, I mark D. Definitely D. I like the beyond infinity option._

My face snuggled between her breasts, I inhale her scent. Her love made sweat is intoxicating. It should be bottled up and sold as perfume that only I'm allowed to buy. On second thought, I don't want anyone bottling her up or touching her perfume, but me. I'll just keep making that sweet love to her, so I can smell it on her skin on a regular basis.

_If your last 'round-o-lovin' was a scratch and sniff sticker, what would your nose know? A) New Car B) Baby Powder C) Cigar D) Cherry Vanilla _

_Oh, definitely D! Cosmo's noes knows us so well. I popped her cherry with vanilla. But, I_ have_ to say I'm mildly curious about 'New Car' and intrigued by the possibilities of 'Cigar'. I'll put little stars by those for later reference. I immediately scratch B out. I don't need that kind of negativity in my life._

I plant kisses on her chest and look up, her azure gaze meeting mine for a still, soft moment before words are needed. We've said everything already with our bodies. She looks happy, content, satisfied. It pleases me to please her. There is nothing more beautiful than my Ana after she comes with my name cried out from her tongue.

_If your lovemaking had a soundtrack, what song would score in the shag sack? _

_ A) Like a Virgin B) Hit Me Baby One More Time C) Bump and Grind D) Addicted to Love._

_Definitely the fuck not B! Cross that shit out! A is misleading, because Ana's virginity and subsequent lack thereof was a high point in my life, and I'm not trying to toot my own horn, but I believe hers, too. C sounds like an auto accident. D, definitely D. Flynn's diagnosed me as such._

_Out of curiosity... What's a 'Shag Sack'? It sounds like something I need to know about. I think it's British. Ana would like that. Note to self- Research sacks and shags. _

These moments of intimacy are so new to me. I'm not sure what postcoital protocol is, or what exactly I'm feeling. That's why I read Cosmopolitan. I didn't seek it out. Rather, it found me. It called to me from Andrea's desk today, luring me with headlines that promised to reveal the secrets of womanhood. I discretely swiped it while Andrea refilled her third latte from that productivity sapping machine. Between all the coffee she drinks and that tight bun on her head, I don't know how she ever closes her eyes. Anyway, after scanning through aimless bullshit about reducing thigh gaps and how to get beach hair without ever going to the beach-why the fuck that's of interest I'll never know- there was a piece entitled _'Afterglow or After-No: Is it a yes or just a hot mess?'_ All signs and multiple 'D' answers pointed to me having this fore mentioned 'afterglow'. But, none of that seventeen page quiz prepared me for what's happening to me right now.

"Hi, I say, suddenly shy and nervous. Talking after sex is still new to me. Normally, I'd just lock my sub upstairs, and then play a lament on the piano.

"Hi," she says in return, with a smile that catches my breath and multiple other parts of me.

My chest heaves. It's as if little caterpillars who were laying dormant, cocooned in my core, have now become full winged butterflies fluttering madly to escape the bars of my ribs and the hollow of my throat. This mass exodus of new life suddenly bursting forth makes me want to weep full scale titty baby style. I read the accounts of women crying after they come in the article, but surely this can't be my fate! I suddenly want to blindfold her. Not for sexual pleasure, just so she can't see me do what one girl described as 'the ugly cry'. What woman wants to sleep with a postcoital sobber? I want her to see a strong, capable Adonis who can karate chop wood blocks and bend iron with his bare hands. I don't want her to see the result of my Cosmopolitan quiz.

"Are you okay?" She asks, and it's not a voice you'd use with Adonis. It's the one reserved for the titty baby.

"Fine." I squeak a response. Those damn wings are flapping up such a fury, my iron bending skills are rendered useless.

She looks at my face, examining my left eye, intently. I know she sees the sap water welling up. I try to squint to hold it back, but my efforts work against me as I squeeze a drop out instead. The trickle catches on my lashes and descends, streaking down my cheek. There is no escape.

"Are you crying?" She asks, her eyes following the trail of my tear.

"No," I bow my head so she can't see me. "It's sweat."

"From your eyeball?"

"Yes!" I say, nibbling at her right breast for distraction. Her nipple firms and I move my teeth to tease it. "I've missed this."

"Me, too." She arches her back in response. Sweating eyeballs momentarily forgotten. My Ana's become quite the brazen little nymph. I think she's wanting round two. But, not just yet...

My fingers firmly wrapped around hers, I hold her hands above her head. She starts to move them and I know she wants to touch me, but I can't let her. Why? Because, I'm fucked up, that's why. This is well established. I push myself up on propped elbows, keeping her hands bound with one of mine, I finally pull out of her. She winces and I rest my body weight on her. We lay like this for several moments, maybe years. Who the fuck knows. It's bliss.

"Can I stroke your hair?" She asks, her voice barely a whisper.

"What? Ana, I-" I look up, my neck tensing as my head pulls back, fearing she just may launch at me. I'm still not sure what to expect from un-cuffed, un-shackled, newly nymphomaniacal women who think on their own. Cosmopolitan didn't get into all that. Mental note- put that in the online suggestion box. Anonymously, of course.

"Please." She sounds so sweet, sincere. And she's so fucking pretty... She's looking at me with those doe eyes. How can I turn down Bambi?

"Nowhere else, okay?" It's a plea for mercy I wish I didn't need, but I do.

She nods softly. After a few seconds, I unclasp her hands, freeing her to do her will with them. I prop onto my side and she reaches up and gently strokes my head.

"How is that?" She asks, her fingers brushing back and forth so gently, almost motherly in their care for me.

"Nice." It's a purr as I melt with her strokes.

Through hooded lids, I see her face. So beautiful. How do I deserve her kindness or her compassion? After the monster she saw in me and what I've done, she's still here, trusting and loving me. I don't know what I would do if I ever lost her again. I would die, that's for certain. Suddenly, a rush of fear fires through me. I lean in and kiss her hard and fast. My tongue thrusting in her mouth, begging for return. She answers me, her tongue finding mine as our kiss deepens. I pull back and hold her chin, keeping her eyes to mine.

"Please don't leave me again," I say, desperately, hopefully. I am that small, scared boy again. I've never given anyone the power to bring me back to that place or the faith to heal me from it. Only Ana.

"I won't." And for that moment, I allow myself to believe her as she feeds that little boy, hungering for love, with her soft, gentle touch.

I take her hand from my head and kiss it. Moving to lie on my back, I bring her with me. Her head rests on my shoulder as I play with her fingers.

"I love my iPad," she says, her hair brushing my skin as she looks up to me.

I smile and kiss her fingertips, one by one.

"I'm glad."

"What's your favorite song on it?" She asks, mischief evident in her tone. I nibble her pinkie and she playfully yelps.

"And bare myself to you completely? Never!" I tease.

"You're already quite bare, Mr. Grey." She looks down at my nude form. My erection still quite the soldier, saluting her at half mast.

"It would appear so. I think I have you to thank."

She giggles, tucking her head into my neck. I can feel her eyelashes fluttering on my throat like feathers from a dove, or an angel wing floating down from on high through puffs of cloud.

"Did you really make the glider all by yourself?" She asks, curling in closer to my side, but careful not to cross torso boundaries.

"Of course I did! What did you think, I called in a crew?"

"I thought Taylor might have helped."

"Contrary to popular belief, we do not spend every waking moment together. I can tie my own shoes and wipe my own shits."

She laughs so infectiously at my shoes and shits that I have to join her. Then, without warning, she gets quiet. Cosmo warned me about these sudden shifts in female mood. I, in fact, suffer from them, too. Like earthquakes, they can happen without warning, and leave crumbling rubble and casualties- namely boyfriends- in their wake. I brace myself, watching as she reaches up and touches my face.

"You did a good job," she says, stroking my cheek. It's beautiful, like you."

Me, beautiful? I exhale, the butterflies fluttering up my throat again.

"Well, back at you, Miss Steele." I pull her hand from my face and kiss the center of her palm.

"You know you're a born romantic."

I snort.

"You are, you just don't see it, because you're too busy looking at other things."

"I like looking at other things. Namely, you. Naked." I put her hand down next to her side, and move my fingers softly down her chest to her belly. Playing with her cute little belly button, I lean in and plant a soft kiss on her mouth.

"Well, back at you, Mr. Grey," she murmurs against my lips, and like the wanton creature she's become under my hand and tutelage, moves to deepen our tongue tangle.

I pull back.

"None of that right now."

"Why not?" She gives me her naughtiest pout.

"We're both on the brink of starvation."

"I know." She pushes her mouth back on mine. Her tongue twisting to part my lips. Her tongue is so strong, I have to hold her back with clenched teeth, and even that's a fight.

"Make me food, Wench!" I protest against her lips in the accent of a pirate or a drunken Englishman, post pub crawl, waking up his wife.

"Was that Sir Sean Connery?" I nip her earlobe in response and she jumps, giggling again.

"No, I'm the only Sir in your bed."

"So, I'm your wench, am I, Sir?"

I sigh, my mouth lifting into the most ridiculously happy grin.

"Yes, mine."

"As you wish, sire."

She hops up, and curtsies. It's quite adorable. She's like a little ballerina, sans clothing. I prefer her tutu any day. As she puts on her robe, ruining my Black Swan/toe shoe fantasy, I notice something under her dislodged pillow. Something she's been hiding. Strange... It's flat and metallic. Almost like tin foil, but with bright colored edges and some sort of string attached. I gasp! It looks like a super hero outfit! Dark thoughts of Ana playing 'Find the Bat Cave' with the photographer explode in my brain. I pull it out fast and hold it up to her.

"Where did you get this?" I ask, wounded and accusatory.

She cocks her head and smirks.

"You."

Me? Upon further review I find her assessment correct. It's the deflated Charlie Tango balloon I sent her with the chilled bottle of Bollinger. She saved it, I marvel.

"That's my balloon, don't finger it," she says, with territorial pride.

"In your bed?"

"It's been keeping me company." While I've been gone... And she tied it up to her bed post in one hell of a constrictor knot. She was thinking of me. This warms my cockles.

"Lucky Charlie Tango." I grin, water welling up in my eyes. The flood gates on the verge of bursting, I bite my tongue to prevent their gush. But, the dam can't hold rapids this strong forever. Cosmo was right about me. Girl's got it baaaaad.

"Don't let your eyeballs sweat all over my balloon, Mr. Grey. It's come to mean a lot to me."

She smiles, then scurries away for the kitchen, leaving me a few moments alone with Charlie Tango to sweat my eyeballs out and set the caged butterflies free.

_If you're lovemaking was a word, what would it be?_

_A) Nifty B) Tart C) Extended D) Invigorating._

_I break all of the rules Cosmo has set forth and cross out every answer, writing in one of my own... More._

_#######_

I've never eaten on the floor before, but I'm doing a lot of things I've never done these days. I also never thought I could be so deliriously happy about it. We casually lean against the sofa, or rather a futon with oversized fuzzy pillows that look like flattened ducks, legs stretched out, eating stir fry from little wooden bowls with matching chop sticks. While I am proficient, Ana is a world class chop stick champion. It's like she's never used anything else. It's oddly hot how fast her little sticks fly around in her noodles, and how skillfully she sucks them up with her pucker.

"You're good," I say, fixated on the twisted ball of noodles at her stick ends and her subsequent slurp.

"I've had practice."

I raise a brow. "With who?" I don't like the implication of her practices in noodle sucking.

"Top Ramen, all through college." She shakes her head and laughs. I think she likes riling me up and setting me off. Strangely, I kind of like it myself.

"Nice rug," I say, noticing the eyesore, making my ass sore, circular thing we are currently sitting on. It's huckleberry blue with giant brown rings overlapping each other. It's like giants set their coffee cups down haphazardly on Smurf Village. Maybe the giants flattened those ducks, too.

"It's Kate's." Thank God! If this was Ana's choosing, I may have had to rethink putting her in charge of decorating our new palatial estate. The one she doesn't know about yet.

"Is anything in this place yours?" I ask, my eyes catching on a street sign hanging from the wall that says 'St. Kate Square'. Did she steal that?

"Yes, you." Ana smiles, claiming me as her own.

"Yes, me." And I, in turn, grin like a sap. I'm so sappy these days, entire forests are envious.

Ana runs her toes along my mine, bringing me away from thoughts of Kate's thievery and the joke of her a sainthood. Her pale pink toes get a little more aggressive, bating me to play their game. Footsie, is it called? I read about this, too. I guess it's a popular sport in the world of coupledom. When in Rome... I move my toes against hers, stiffly and slowly at first, then I get my rhythm going and before I know it, I'm full-scale tickling her back. She laughs, igniting mine. I never knew this footsie could be such fun. I'm not sure how one wins this game, nor do I care, I just want to play with her little feet forever.

"This really is is delicious," I remark, post foot war, after a hefty bite-full chicken and my jagged cut peppers. Seeing them all cooked up like this makes me quite proud of my culinary experience. I've never eaten anything I've cut up before, which is another first. Ana is an exceptional cook. Ironic, since she hates food.

"I do all the cooking. Kate's terrible." Shocker. Of course St. Kate's enslaved Ana to do all her cooking. I cringe. I don't want anyone enslaving Ana, but me.

"Did your mother teach you how to cook?" I wonder about her mother. They rarely see each other and don't seem close. I guess, I'm curious about mothers in general. Why some are good and others are so bad, and how the mother lottery picks which one we get?

"No, by the time I wanted to learn, Mom was with Husband Number Three. I taught myself." She sounds sad, bitter. The way she says 'Husband Number Three' worries me.

"Why didn't you stay with your mother?"

"I didn't like her husband or Texas."

She looks off and I don't like it. If he hurt her in any way, I swear I'll go after the fucker myself and rip him limb from limb. I should really look into this.

"I missed Ray, so I came back," she says, as way of explanation.

"It sounds like you looked after Ray."

"I guess." She shrugs.

"You're used to taking care of people."

I watch her for a moment. She's so strong and self contained. I think, like me, she's fought a lot of battles on her own. I want to wrap her in my arms and protect her from all harm or sadness, fighting every new battle for her. I've never looked at someone and wanted to give them my life. But, right here and right now, I do. I do? I do... Those vows sound familiar. Maybe that's what they really mean.

"What is it?" She asks, bringing me back to the moment.

"I want to take care of you," I say, moving my thumb to stroke her cheek, then her lip.

"I've noticed," she says, her eyes downcast. "I'm still mad at you for buying SIP."

"That doesn't change my mind."

"What am I going to say to my work colleagues, to Jack?"

"Don't talk to that fucker!"

"He's my boss! How will we converse?"

"Limit the words. Just say yes, no or maybe." I clench my fist just thinking of the fucker and her 'yeses' to him. "On second thought, never says yes or maybe, just dress like a librarian, do your work and leave."

"You're being highly irrational." Oh, she hasn't seen the heights of my irrationality!

"That fucker better watch himself!"

"Christian!"

"Don't tell him or any of them that I own it. The agreement was signed yesterday. The news is embargoed for four weeks while the management at SIP makes some changes."

"Oh … will I be out of a job?" She looks seriously worried.

I actually spit my noodles on that one.

"I sincerely doubt it. You are, as you put it earlier, fucking the big boss."

"I don't want my job because of really hot sex!"

"Really hot, is it?"

She glares at me, admonishing my teasing.

"If I leave and find another job, will you buy that company, too?"

The question catches me off guard. Not the part about my purchasing capabilities, but rather the part about her going.

"You're not thinking of leaving, are you?" Panicked desperation evident in my tone.

"Possibly. I'm not sure you've given me a great deal of choice."

She squints her left eye in that way that she does when she's mad, but not too terribly really.

"Yes, I will buy that company, too. And the next one and the next one..."

"So, I'll never be able to out run you."

I touch her face. Memories of that night around the piano and the red room after still haunt.

"I hope you don't want to run anymore."

She watches me intently, then sighs. "No. But, you know I am in a no-win situation here."

"Maybe it's a win-win," I say, setting my bowl down on the rug and leaning in close to her face. Our lips just about to touch. "You have a good job. A benevolent big, big boss. Really hot sex with said big, big boss."

"How benevolent is this big, big boss?"

"You should give him a test drive?

"A ride or two might not be a bad idea," she says, with a devious grin that makes dick jump. God, she's the end of me. No, the beginning...

She picks up my bowl and coupling it with hers, takes them to the kitchen sink.

Dinner is finished. The hours are ticking on. The question must be asked. It's a question I've never really asked before, but fuck it. I'm all about the tough questions these days. Cosmo says to assert yourself. No one asserts better than me. I put the 'ass' in assertive. I get up a bit of nerve, and assertively stand in the kitchen doorway.

"Can I stay?" I ask.

"What do you mean?" She asks.

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" Is this the big time brush off Cosmo warned about in that article '_Take the Hint: A Girlfriend's Guide to Reading Between the Love Lines'?_

"You want to stay standing in the kitchen?"

"No, I want to stay sleeping in the night."

She laughs. Is she laughing at me? Suddenly, I want to assert myself under those flattened ducks.

"Yes, I assumed that you would."

"You did?"

She nods. Oh, thank God!

"So you wanted me to stay?"

"Yes, Christian. I want you to spend the night with me." The look in her eyes tells me sleep will be last on her grocery list.

I lean in and give her a quick, but passionate, kiss.

"Is it time for dessert, Mr. Grey?" Her words hum against my mouth.

"Yes." I pull back and watch her, all breathy and flushed. "Where's the ice cream?"

_End of First Half of Chapter... To be Continued..._


	15. Chapter 14 Part II

_**So so sorry for the delay! I had an unexpectedly busy weekend. It's a big scene and I didn't want to be sloppy with it... So to speak. ;) Glad you all have been waiting for the next part. Hope you enjoy! Thank you again for all your reviews/comments! Love them! Love you! xo**_

**_Since I've been writing Christian's POV, I'm so interested in the new book! What a surprise! Looking forward to June 18th._**

"It's rock hard," Ana says, holding my package, still wrapped up and covered in its bag. Her greedy little fingers squeeze, but find no give.

"Let me handle that," I say in response to her insistent poking and prodding, grabbing it back from her. She's always trying to control my items. She's right, though. It is an ice block. Just the way I like it. Once it touches her skin, it'll warm right up and Ana will be dripping in oozing white cream in no time.

"Do you want me to put the little scooper under hot water?" She asks, trying to get a peak inside the wrapper. She pushes her cleavage forward. Her tits nearly spilling out of her robe and onto the butcher's block.

"I know that old trick, Miss Steele."

"What old trick?"

"You're trying to take me down with your nipples, but it won't work." I rip my eyes from her breasts, then look again at them briefly, then rip them away once more, and with black belt skills honed by Claude, I whip my bagged friend around and shield it with a strewn about copy of 'The Joy of Cooking'.

"Let me take the bag off." She grabs for it again and I brush her paws away.

"Are you trying to emasculate me completely?"

"Not completely, I'll save the rest of the emasculation process for another day."

She grins, satisfied with her attempt at humor. I shake my head.

"Sarcasm, Miss Steele... The lowest form of wit."

She snorts a laugh. She's really the most adorable thing I've ever seen. I have to smile, just watching her smile... and snort. I've noticed that when I'm with her my cheeks hurt all the time. The corners of my lips even cramp up at in opportune moments like hostile takeover meetings and exiting the men's room, causing me to look painfully happy at best and a maniacal psychopath formulating his plans at worst. I guess that's what happens when you start using muscles you've never used before. Sometimes it hurts.

"This is my show, Ana. Close your eyes."

"It's not like it's a surprise. I know what's in there."

"Do I have to blindfold you?"

"Maybe."

"Just do as you're told, for once."

She covers her eyes with hands itching for mischief.

"I can see the spaces between your little fingers. Tighten up, or I may put you over my knee and demonstrate solid hand placement."

"Do you have little silver balls?" Her thighs rub together. Naughty little minx.

"Funny, I don't carry a spare pair around. Not much use for them at the office." I laugh with an enunciated 'hardy har har'.

"I thought you said sarcasm was the lowest form of wit."

"My new motto is, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

She gapes at me, spreading her fingers wider so I see her full blue eyes. She's seemingly shocked that I just said that. I'm shocked I'm hanging out on a Friday night with a girl, in bare feet on cheap linoleum, telling jokes. I used to not even believe in jokes. I was like a humor atheist. Now, look at me. I'm a living, breathing Tom Hanks Rom-Com marathon. Sleepless in Seattle...Tommy Boy's got nothing on me.

"Sew up the fingers!"

She closes them fast, swaying from foot to foot in anticipation.

"I also know you're rolling your eyes under there. Behave."

She giggles. Ana giggling is like a choir of angels singing on high. I should make a recording so I can play it all day and night on maximum volume, letting her tickling laughter wash over me, like a twenty-four hour Ana giggle bath.

I turn to face the countertop. Slowly, I unwrap my package on the pink Formica, pulling out my most favorite in all its glory... A carton of Ben and Jerry's Vanilla. A blooming white flower and two obscenely long, brown, wrinkly pods are pictured on the cover in celebratory, all natural, New England farm style fashion. It's kind of erotic, like one of those Georgia O'Keefe paintings of the flower vaginas, only this one has penis representation, too. A cow watches from a grassy hilltop in the distance. That kind of disturbs me. I briefly wonder about this Ben and Jerry. Are they a couple? Or brothers? Or oddly close friends who share a strong love of frozen dairy? Do they live on that farm in the picture with that creepy cow and flora and fauna genitalia? And, why do they like cows so much? As Flynn would say, was it something missing in their formative years? Whatever their deal, I couldn't care fucking less. I just want Ben and Jerry to help make Ana and Christian's night. Sans watching cows.

I open the drawer of cutlery, and after rattling its contents for dramatic effect, pull out a single silver teaspoon.

"Why are you in my drawers?" She asks.

"I love foraging in your drawers, Miss Steele. My favorite pastime."

I laugh, deliciously, enjoying my taunt. I decide to play with her some more, before I play with her some more. I grind pepper, shake a ripe coconut, and run the electric can opener on high speed to really confuse her.

"Are you making a banana split?" Her little antenna is is up so high it may contact Pluto. The on again, off again planet, not the Disney dog.

"No, you know how I feel about you and bananas these days." My disdain toward the yellow peeled offenders evident, as I recall their role in her six day starvation.

"Sundaes?"

"I think we're missing a few ingredients for a sundae, Miss Steele. Namely the cherry."

"You still have the nuts, Mr. Grey."

"Are you wanting a taste?"

"Yes, please." Her breath is lustful, wanting.

I move to her, spoon and arctic chilled vanilla bean cream in hand, and press my body against hers. My growing erection digging into her hip.

"I thought you said there were no bananas involved."

"What ever am I going to do with your dirty mouth, Miss Steele?"

"Fill it," she says, parting her lips and sliding her tongue over her teeth.

"Oh, I plan to." I open the lid of my pint and touch my finger to the cold contents, speckled with seeds from those phallic pods. "But, first I just want to give you a taste of dessert..." The cream beneath my finger tip immediately starts to melt with the heat from my skin.

She pants. "What are we having?"

"Ben and Jerry's and Ana." I slide my finger across the vanilla goodness, take a little of its newly warmed cream with my finger tip and place a dollop on my tongue. I move my mouth to Ana's, surprising her with my chilled kiss. Her tongue doesn't hesitate to lap the sweetness pooling on mine. Our lip-lock deepens as the ice cream melts between us. I can feel her swallow as my tongue pushes further inside of her, forcing a slosh of cream down her throat.

"Vanilla," she murmurs against my parted lips, a dribble sliding out the side of her mouth. I catch it on her chin with my tongue and lick my way back to her lips, thrusting my sweetened tongue inside her mouth for a few more delicious seconds.

"It's more like French vanilla," she says, as I pull back.

"Oui, oui." I move her hands from her eyes. "You can look now, Miss Steele."

She blinks, adjusting to the light, and watches me as I hold the carton and spoon. My cock fighting to escape the prison of my pants, I am ready for action on all levels.

"Why'd you pick vanilla? Her mouth twists into a smile.

"It's my favorite."

"Not 'Chunky Monkey'?"

I shake my head, scoffing at monkey chunks. Whatever the fuck that is. It sounds like some ancient tribal sacrifice or post all-you-can-eat buffet vomit. Plus, anything with monkeys involves bananas, and as previously stated, we're not going there right now.

"Not that one with potato chips in it?"

"It has its place in society, but no." Potato chips in ice cream... I knew Ben and Jerry were troubled.

"I always thought you'd be a 'Karamel Sutra' kind of guy." That one sounds good, but no...

"Vanilla," I say, my voice low and raspy with want for my dessert- My Ana. I touch my finger to the chilled custardy concoction again. Sweetness on my tip, I move back to Ana and trace it over her lips, slowly, softly, and with the skill of an artisan.

She moans, her lips quivering under the icy chill.

"Open," I order.

She parts her lips, giving my finger access.

"Suck."

Her lips wrap around its girth and she sucks. Like a fucking Olympic champion on a gold medal podium, she sucks. Those Russian gymnasts have nothing on her. Her tongue plays with me as I slide the chilled end back and forth in her warm, soft mouth. Like a good girl, she licks and slurps every drop I give her. Knowing she hungers for more, I pull my hand back sharply and step away, offering my outstretched palm to her, instead.

"Come."

"I was about to," she says, breathless, needy.

"I know." I cock my head to the side and grin.

She smiles, licking her lips with an appetite of raw carnality, then takes my hand and I lead her into the bedroom.

The lights are low. The room is warm. My dick is so fucking hard.

I set the ice cream down on the bedside table. With a magician's quick hand, I remove the duvet and pillows, tossing them to the floor.

"You have a change of sheets, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Don't touch my balloon," she shoots out fast and with an edge of warning.

Balloon? What the fuck does that mean? Is that a breast? But which one? And why is she so protective of one and carefree with the other one? No, I just touched both of them. She wasn't protective at all. I hope that's not her pet name for her pussy, or our night will be ruined. No, I just touched that, too! This is something new. What the fuck is her balloon and why haven't I touched it before?"

She holds the string tied to Charlie Tango, pulling it off the bed and placing it on the night table. Of course. Her balloon. The one I gave to her. She loves it, which means she must really love me... I shake my head. The thought still too hard for me to accept. No, Grey, she's just fond of your balloon, that's all. But, you can't love a balloon on its own, can you? Not, without loving the man behind it first...

"Wouldn't dream of it, baby," I assure her, drifting back from the deep sea of thoughts I was swimming in. "But, I want mess you and the sheets up really bad."

Her knees knock together so hard and fast, she looks like a marionette puppet whose strings were just cut. It delights me that I'm the puppeteer. A flush of pink dusts across her cheeks as I take hold of her wrists, stroking them, gently. I bring one to my mouth and kiss the inside, the smell of gardenia perfume still a hint on her delicate skin.

"I want to tie you up."

"Okay."

"Just your hands. To the bed post. I need you still for what I'm going to do to you."

"Okay." Her breath quickens, the adrenalin pulsing through her veins. Her husky one word answers betray her attempts at masking her blatant lust.

I let go of her wrists and move my hands down her chest until I reach the belt loops of her robe. Her tiny waist cinched tightly by its sash. My sinful gaze not leaving hers, I push my fingers behind the knot and firmly tug her into my body. She gasps.

"We'll use this." I pull the belt from its loops, one by one, slipping it from each slot with a slow measured pace meant to frustrate. Her robe falls open and she stands there for a moment, paralyzed from heat. I am the devil, seducing an angel, who, in turn, is seducing him right back.

My fingertips run through her hair, then move, sliding down her neck, her chest. I cup her breasts gently, stroking her nipples with my palms. Not breaking contact with her skin, I then slide my hands outward and upward, pushing the robe from her shoulders. It falls to the floor, pooling at her feet. She's naked, gloriously naked, in front of me. My eyes drink in this fine sight. But, she's suddenly shy and starts to cover herself, folding her arms across her bust. I move to peel them away.

"I want the pleasure of looking at you, Anastasia."

Her arms tentatively relax at her sides as I circle her. My lascivious gaze locked on her body, I admire her form from all angles. Her soft navel, her curved hips, the top of her thighs that kiss the edges of her taut ass. After admiring every inch of her frame, I return to where I began, and stand to face her. Sweat glistens on her brow, her collarbone, her chest. I lean into her neck and inhale her scent. I can feel her heartbeat pulsating against my mouth as I run my lips along her throat. She tilts her head back and hums a sweet sound of ecstasy. I lift myself away from her and she groans in protest, yearning for my touch. Stroking her face with my knuckles, I slowly, softly, lean in to kiss her mouth. Her body gyrates and I know she feels it deep in her groin.

"Are you hot?" I ask, my breath on her ear.

She nods and whimpers. "It's stifling."

"Good, I'm going to cool you down." I grasp the belt in my hand. Fingers clasped over the cloth, I slide it through the opening of my closed fist, feeling the material scratch against my palm. The urge to strike her across her ass with it is strong, but I resist. "Lay on the bed, face up." No ass strike tempting that way.

Like a grade A speller about to win the Bee, she does as she's told. Finally! The room is dim. She uses energy saving light bulbs, I notice, leaning over to check inside her lampshade. That's so hot. I like a girl who's environmentally conscious. Shrouded in this soft earth friendly light, her naked body almost glows, looking heavenly spread out before me. Like a prized dish on a King's banquet, I'm about to feast.

"I could look at you all day, Anastasia." I crawl up her body and up the bed, straddling her. "Hands above your head." Oh, how I've missed saying those words. Thoughts of my tie tethering her that very first morning after that very first night come to mind. She complies with eager enthusiasm, throwing her hands back above her. I wrap the belt around her wrists, looping it to the bed iron in a Boy Scout badge worthy overhand double bow knot. Pushing myself up, I gaze down at her, on my knees.

"Are you okay?" I ask, suddenly fearful that she might be thinking about that last night in my red room. That she, I shudder, may be scared of me.

"I trust you." She nods. I am in awe of her strength, her forgiveness, her faith. Maybe, hopefully she's strong enough for the both of us, so we can find a way together. I know I'm not strong enough on my own. It is Ana who lifts me to these high places of hope.

My shoulders, that I hadn't realized were tensing, relax. She's tethered, she can't touch me... I sigh. I never had to worry about it with my subs. They were tied up and obedient, and safely at a distance in every possible way. They were my possessions, but they were never really mine. Not in the way something you love belongs to you. When it's real, I've noticed, the joy is not in the having, it's in the giving. I belong to Ana and she should be able to hold what belongs to her. Maybe one day soon...

I watch her for a moment, her loving blue gaze magnetizing mine. Her chestnut hair spilling off her shoulders and onto the white linens. The way her frame bends and bows, anticipating me, my touch. She's a goddess and I will worship at the alter of her body until I have no breath or form, and I'm sure even then I'll still find a way.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" My thumb strokes her cheek.

She looks down and away. I hold her chin and turn her face back to mine.

"You are. Believe me, I've seen a lot of beautiful things in my life... Never anything like you."

I give her a soft kiss on her lips. She looks shy, almost embarrassed. I wish she could see herself through my eyes. But, maybe I don't, because then, being inside my fucked up head, she'd definitely leave.

I bound up, shaking my head clear of dark thoughts for the moment. It's time to play. I pull my shirt over my head and drop my jeans. I am buck naked before her and she is, mouth open, drool dropping, panty combusting, staring at me and my first class cadet.

"See something you like, Miss Steele?"

"Yes, everything." She bites her lip and my dick twitches in response.

I move to the end of the bed and grasp her ankles, pulling her swiftly and sharply downward so that her arms are stretched out and unable to move.

"Are you hungry?" I ask, hovering over her parted thighs.

"Yes, very." She gulps.

"Me, too." I inch forward and blow on her sex. I so want to taste her, but I hold back. Anticipation is the key to seduction.

She lifts her hips and wriggles her bottom in response.

"You'll have to stay still. Bad girls don't get dessert."

"Don't they get sent straight to bed?"

"It appears I've already done that. Now, I have to decide what to do with you next."

I move to the bedside table and pick up my carton and spoon, and then move back to the bed, straddling her again on my knees. My cock stands firm and proud, eye to eye with the snake charming Miss Steele.

"It's still quite hard," I say, digging into the pint and then putting the spoonful in my mouth.

"I can see that." She gulps. Her mouth parting, reaching to try and hold my erection between her lips. So close, yet so far.

"Delicious." I swirl the cream around my tongue, licking my lips to catch the errant droplets. "Amazing how good plain old vanilla can be." She finally breaks eye contact with my well charmed snake, and watches intently as I lick the spoon clean with stealth oral skill. I gaze at her with dark, hooded eyes. "Would you like some?"

She nods, shy, innocent. Who's she fooling?

I take another spoonful and her lips quiver as she opens her mouth in libidinous anticipation. I inch it close to her lips. So close, she reaches her tongue for it, almost tasting the milky sweetness... But, I pull it back from her before she knows satisfaction.

"I think it's too good to share," I say, pushing the spoonful in my mouth, working the cream over my tongue and down my throat. "Mmmmm..." Ben and Jerry do know what they're doing.

"Hey!"

"Why, Miss Steele, do you like your vanilla?"

"Yes," she shouts and starts to buck against her restraints.

I laugh. "Getting feisty, are we? I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"I need the ice cream," she pleads. I've never heard her beg for food. It's so fucking hot, I think my dick grows two more inches. At least.

"Well, as you've pleased me so much today, Miss Steele." I offer her another spoonful. This time letting her take it on her tongue. Yes, she's eating! I nearly do a celestial dance of thanksgiving to the harvest gods as she laps it up like a little kitten licking cream from her saucer. I scoop another spoonful and feed her some more. More lapping and kitty licking. Then another and another... "Hmm, well, this is one way to ensure you eat—force-feed you. I could get used to this."

I take a heaping spoonful and offer her more, but this time she keeps her mouth shut, refusing my creamy bounty, shaking her head like a petulant two-year-old.

"Oh Miss Steele, if you don't open your mouth, the ice cream is going to melt." She keeps her pout puckered in protest. I think she's daring me. I'm not one to be dared.

I hold the spoon in place, pressing it into her lips. The ice cream starts to melt against her heat, dripping down her chin.

"You're usually such a good little cream swallower, Miss Steele."

She rolls those naughty, nympho eyes, but doesn't budge as the melted ice cream drips onto her throat, onto her chest. The milky droplets sliding over the mounds of her breasts and dripping from her nipples. I dip down and slowly lick my way down her chin, her neck, over her breasts, suckling the milk from her nipples. Her body clenches and tightens beneath me.

"Mmm. Tastes even better off you, Miss Steele."

She pulls against her restraints and the bed creaks. I take another spoonful and let it drip onto each breast. Then, with the back of the spoon, I spread thick, frozen cream across her chest. Massaging it over her breasts with my hands, the ooey gooey cream slips and slides, back and forth as my fingers trail through its milky way. This is so much fun! Triple X-rated finger painting with food. It's sort of like we're in kindergarten, but not. I place a frozen dollop on each nipple and she bucks from sensation.

"Cold or hot?" I ask, my tongue twirling around each of her hardened peaks, sucking the cream into my mouth.

"Both," she moans as I continue my torturous nipple assault.

As it starts to melt, the ice cream runs off of her and onto the bed. I scoop some of the still firm cream up with my tongue.

"Want some?" I ask. Before she can answer me, my tongue, pooling with sweet cream, is in her mouth, tangling with hers.

I sit up again and trail a spoonful of ice cream down the center of her body, across her stomach, and into her navel where I deposit the thick remains. She shivers.

"You're going to have to stay still, or there will be ice cream all over the bed." With my ever hungry for Ana tongue, I follow the line of ice cream from her throat down her body. Her cleavage is pooling with the melted sin and my tongue bathes in it. Like puddles of rain after a long, thirsting drought, I drink their sweet nectar.

Her head tips back and she starts to gyrate. I know my Ana, she's about to come undone. I put my hands on her hips and firmly hold her in place. She tries to buck, but I don't let her move.

"I can't take it," she groans.

Paying her pleas for mercy no mind, I shift lower, licking my way down the vanilla dribbled path to her belly. My tongue stops at her navel, swirling its tip mercilessly into and around her cute little 'innie'.

I take another spoonful and place it in her belly button. It starts to melt almost immediately and she cries out. With my mouth, I take still solid ice cream and trail it farther down her body, into her pubic hair, and onto to her clitoris.

"Oh, God, stop," she cries out. But, I know that's not a prayer she really wants answered.

"Hush now," I say, softly as my tongue gently swirls around her clit, finally tasting her. So sweet. The warmth of her and the cold of the cream electrifying my tongue. She vibrates as I mercilessly suck on her pulsing pink bud.

"Oh … please … Christian."

"I know, baby, I know." Continuing its work, my tongue slides up and down her folds, lapping up both the sweetness of the cream and the sweetness of Ana. The mix is intoxicating. This is my new favorite flavor, but I'm not sharing the recipe with Ben or Jerry. Her body is climbing—higher, higher. I slip one finger inside of her, then another, and move them slowly in and out, rhythmically stroking the front wall of her vagina. I know this spot is driving her wild.

"Oh, Christian, it feels so good right there."

"I know. Feel it, baby." My mouth continues to move, licking and suckling her sex, as my fingers play on in their torturous motion.

I am getting so hard. Fuck, I want to be inside of her. I can't wait any longer.

"Come on, Ana."

Like thunder, she erupts beneath me, eyes closed, writhing and groaning. It's so fucking hot watching her come, covered in a gooey white mess of my making. It takes my imagination to places a man can only dream of, but sometimes, for extra lucky bastards, dreams really do come true. I stop and with a scrambling reach, grab the condom on the bedside table, tearing the foil with my teeth. Hovering over her, I slide it on. God, I hate these fuckers. Once gloved, I'm inside of her, hard and fast.

"Oh yes!" I groan as I slam into her. We are so sticky. There's ice cream everywhere and everything smells like vanilla beans. It's like we've gone on a mad sex rampage through Candyland. All over the bed and our bodies, gooey sweetness sticks and drips. That cow on the cover of the Ben &amp; Jerry's package would cover its eyes if it saw us now. So would Ben &amp; Jerry. Or, knowing those freaks, maybe not. I pull out of her and flip her over.

"This way," I murmur and I push inside her once more. She feels so good. No one has ever felt this good before. I lean over and untie her knots so fast, it would earn me another Boy Scout's badge. Releasing her hands, I pull her upright so she's almost sitting on me. My front to her back. My hands move up to her breasts, and I cup them both, tugging gently on her sticky nipples. She groans, tossing her head back against my shoulder. I nuzzle her neck, biting down, as I flex my hips, slowly filling her again and again.

"Do you know how much you mean to me?" I breathe against her ear.

"No," she gasps.

I smile against her neck. I can taste vanilla in her sweat. My fingers curling around her jaw and throat, I hold still for a moment, completely filling her.

"I'm never going to let you go."

"Don't let me go."

She groans and I pick up speed. Thrusting in and out of her. This feeling of want and need so different than any other. I don't need her simply for pleasure. I need her for air, because without her I can't breathe. Nor, do I want to.

"You are mine, Anastasia." It's a proclamation and a prayer.

"Yes, yours," she pants.

"I take care of what's mine," I hiss and bite her ear.

She cries out so loudly and tortured, the neighbors must surely think I'm killing her.

"That's right, baby, I want to hear you." I snake a hand around her waist while the other hand grasps her hip, pushing into her harder, making her cry out again and again. My breathing grows harsher and harsher, ragged, matching hers.

"Come on, baby," I growl through gritted teeth.

And with that, she comes undone. Her body convulses as she screams out, falling against me, her head dipping back onto my shoulder, as she finds her release. Seeing her like this is my undoing. With two more thrusts, I release, pouring myself, all of me, inside of her. And we lie there together, overcome with passion, emotion and copious amounts of vanilla ice cream puddling around our love joined form.

#######

She lays in my arms, her back to my front, snuggling in sticky sheets and holding to each other with spent limbs.

"What do they call this?" I ask, my arms wrapped around her.

"What?" She asks, stroking my hands.

"What we're doing right now."

"Afterglow?"

"No." I smirk, I know all about that thanks to Cosmo. "This position."

"Spooning?"

"That's it!"

She giggles, curling herself in closer to me.

"I like it, whatever it's called," I say softly, my head resting on her shoulder. "I like it with you, Ana."

We're quiet for a moment. Both taking in this tidal wave that's hit us. Neither one of us has known anything like it before.

"What I feel for you frightens me," she says, cutting through the silence.

"Me, too, baby." I look out her window and up at the night sky. Wondering when heaven will discover I'm happy and correct their mistake.

"What if you leave me?" She murmurs. Is she insane? I spend every waking moment in torment and fear that she's going to leave me.

"I'm never going anywhere, Anastasia."

She turns over and looks at me for moment, trying to read my eyes and thoughts, then leans in for a soft kiss. I smile and tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"I've never felt the way I did when you left. I would move heaven and earth to never feel that way again."

She smiles. She's so lovely bathed in a stream of moonlight shooting through the window glass. I want to spend eternity wrapped around her in this bed. Just her and me and the moonbeams.

"Will you go with me to my family's charity event tomorrow night?" I ask, the words out before I know it. This is a big one. Once everyone, and I mean almost everyone I've ever known in my life, meets her, they'll know I've found the one. But, that's not the biggest thing about this big one. It's that I want them to.

"Of course I'l come," she says sweetly, almost shy. I breathe a sigh of relief. But, then she furrows her brow, seemingly worried, and I tense again.

"What's wrong?" Oh fuck. Maybe she realizes how big of a deal this is, too. Maybe she's ashamed to be on my arm. Maybe she doesn't think I'm really 'the one' for her. I will die if that is so.

"Nothing."

"Tell me!" My entire future depends on it!

She slinks back and crinkles her nose.

"I don't have anything to wear."

I dip my head and shake it. All this worry about attire. Oh fuck, this is going to cause a row.

"Don't be mad, but I still have all those clothes for you back home." I've been sniffing them and sleeping with them at night in your old bedroom. I don't think I'll share that.

"Do you now?" She's perturbed. What woman is mad at a new closet full of designer clothes? This one.

"Ana, I'm your boyfriend. I like for you to have nice things."

"They're too extravagant. Most boyfriends don't buy $5000 dresses and luxury cars ." And mansions...not going there yet.

"Most boyfriends don't have my money."

She raises a brow.

"It's true. If we were to do a comparison. Say with a boy that works at McDonalds."

"You automatically think a guy I'd date would work at McDonalds?"

"I'd kill him before I'd let him date you, but just hear me out."

She smirks, but she's listening.

"Say he took you on a date, on his fast food window wages..."

"What if he's the manager?"

"Okay, two dollars more an hour... Anyway, this manager would probably buy you a happy meal..."

"He'd get it for free." Good point. "Okay, he's a rebel and he'd take you to the competition. Pizza Hut, say..." She bursts out laughing. "There'd be salad and slices, bread sticks... Probably beer or whatever wine cooler the local liquor is pedaling."

"You mean, Lucky E Liquor?"

I smirk. "Yes, my new favorite beverage vendor. Cat piss by the pint or box."

She's rolling around in a giggle fit now.

"And maybe he'd bring you a present. Like a scarf or socks."

"Socks?! This is my date?!"

"It would be half a day of his paycheck. And if you did a comparative to mine, I can spend at least $400,000 a day on you. So really, I've been getting away on the cheap. I owe you millions."

"You are unbelievable."

"Just cold, hard facts, Miss Steele."

"So what does this McDonald's manager look like?"

"He's got horns and a humpback and he never bathes." And now, I'm angry at an imaginary employee of the Golden Arches trying to steal my girl.

She gets up and leans over me.

"So, how are you going to pay off your debt?"

"I'll buy you anything."

"I don't want money."

"What do you want?"

She raises a mischievous brow. "Let's start with a shower."

And within moments, I'm paying my debt, under hot running water, as memories of a sweet vanilla evening wash from our joined bodies.


	16. Chapter 16

I'm frolicking barefoot through the meadow of our new home, dressed all in white linen, smiling at a sun so bright it smiles back. I can feel the grass between my toes as the rays beam down on me, firing me with childlike desire to roll around in the high summer grass. And, so I do. I don't get grass stains, I marvel, looking at my lily white sleeve, post quadruple lawn revolutions. In what wondrous world can clothing stay so spotless even when worn by a foolish blade runner? In what world am I barefoot on dirt? In what world do I wear nearly see-through white pants? Questions of my place in the universe forgotten as I pluck a dandelion next to my head and blow, then another and another, making the same wish over and over again as fluffy seeds scatter on the wind. That Anastasia would be mine forever.

I hear her, bringing my weed wishing to halt. Anastasia's giggles float on the breeze, dancing alongside my freshly blown wishes. I immediately stand, closing my eyes and swaying to her melody, as fluffy particles of hope rain down on me. This must be the soundtrack to heaven. Am I dead? No, I don't think so. I have an erection. Plus, even the cruelest hell wouldn't sentence me to eternity in white linen pants.

"Christian," I hear Anastasia call and it echoes, knotted up in the wind.

"I'm coming, baby." I start to run. I don't know quite where I'm running, just that I'm running to her, and that's enough for me.

"Moooooo..."

I'm stopped, dead in my tracks, by an ornery cow standing in front of the only gate to an infinitely long white picket fence. It's the kind of fence you want to grow old with someone behind.

"Get out of my way, cow, I need to find my wife." My wife? When did Ana become my wife?

The cow moos in my face, spitting grass it's chewing on, forbidding my passage. If I didn't know any better, I'd say this cow had a beef with me. So to speak.

"Christian, I need you." Ana calls for me again. She needs me! I have to find her before someone else fills her calling needs, but this fucking cow won't move. I push it, but my attempts are in vain. What does this cow have, iron udders or something?

"Can we help you?" Two middle aged twin men in matching overalls and straw hats appear out of nowhere, holding hands and gigantic bottles of milk.

"I'm looking for my wife." Why do I keep saying this?

"Haven't you found her," one asks.

"Yes, I've finally found my Ana and now I can't find her anymore."

They start belly laughing, their guts twisting in humor at my expense. They're like those characters from Alice in Wonderland. What were they called? The Tweedle brothers? No, Dee and Dum. Why did twin brothers have the same first name and different last names? I don't fucking know, I never paid attention fairy tales, until I started living one.

"But, you haven't married her yet," one of them says. "She's waiting in the barn."

"The barn? We don't have a barn!"

"We do." They look to each other and smile so enthusiastically, I fear they may get it on right in front of me and the damn cow. What's that milk they're holding for? I don't want to know. It may be too kinky, even for me.

"Who the fuck are you?" I ask.

"This is Ben," one speaks.

"And this is Jerry," so says the other. "

Suddenly, those large white vanilla flowering vaginas from the ice cream carton and their accompanying phallic pods shoot up from the ground on the other side of the gate, lining a winding white brick path that leads to a hilltop.

"Where is Ana?"

They point to the flowered path in unison. "Follow the vanilla brick road."

"But, there's a cow in my way."

"Don't mind her, that's just old Mrs. Robinson." I eye the cow. She bats her lashes. You've gotta be kidding me.

There's no way I'll let an old cow named Mrs. Robinson prevent me from getting to my Ana. I back up and with a running jump, I leap higher than a lord on the tenth day of Christmas. Once on the other side, I look at the path laid out before me and run.

I see the barn! It's lit, like a beacon on the hilltop. I huff and puff as I scale the rocky hillside, climbing to my fair Anastasia. Finally, reaching solid ground, I stand in front of the gargantuan doors. There's some sort of music coming from inside. Not the giggling I heard before, something from an organ.

"Christian," she calls for me.

"I'm coming, Ana."

I take hold of the circular iron knobs and open the doors. A room full of people turn at once to watch me. Almost everyone I've ever met in my life is here, sitting in rows of folding chairs set up like pews on the hay covered floors. My family, Flynn, even Andrea's in a corner seat with some derelict in a motorcycle jacket. I think it's a guy from accounting that hangs around that blasted cappuccino machine looking to score.

_'Here comes the bride' _plays as I walk in slow motion down the white carpeted aisle, all eyes glued on me. They look at me with wonder, awe, expectation. I briefly wonder if they can see my erection through these flimsy pants. But, I think it's more than that. And I know Taylor, who's standing guard by the feed trough, wouldn't look expectant if he saw my erection. What are they all expecting, exactly? I'm not a showman. Why am I walking down the aisle? And where's Ana? Isn't this her job? How did I become the fucking bride?"

"Oh, Christian, why do you play such sad songs?" An elderly lady in a checkered dress that smells her age, looks up to me from her seat. It's Miss Kathie, my piano teacher! I thought she retired to Boca Raton.

"I don't know, Miss Kathie. I'm learning new ones, though."

I continue my bridal march. My brother brought Kate, who mouths to me 'watch it, fucker' with extra enunciation on the expletive as I pass them. Flynn gives me a thumbs up. Andrea is now sucking face with that guy. She's such a whore once she takes down that bun. My mother, who is sobbing uncontrollably, reaches out to me.

"I'm so happy for you," says Grace.

"Me, too," a young woman, dressed all in gray, who looks a lot like me, says as she holds to Grace's hand. She won't make eye contact with me, but I feel her sentiments are warm. She has the prettiest long brown hair. But, she disappears so suddenly, I can't get a good look at her.

My father leans over. "Do you like Ana, son?"

"Yeah, I really do, Dad." I feel the goofiest, puppy dog smile come on. The smile I should've had at fifteen for a girl. The smile I'm so lucky to have now.

"Go to your girl, Christian," Grace says.

"I'm trying! Where is she?"

She points to the pulpit of what is now a church alter in the middle of the barn. Ana is standing in a heavenly white linen dress that matches my pants, in the middle of a gigantic vat of what appears to be melting vanilla ice cream.

"Ana!" I walk toward her. She beams radiantly as I approach the edge.

"I've been waiting for you," she says. "Only you."

"I've been waiting for only you, too, Miss Steele. I just didn't know it."

"Climb in." She twirls, splashing around in the waist high vanilla.

"But, you're covered in ice cream."

"I thought you liked me covered in ice cream."

"Oh, I do. But, Miss Kathie is watching."

Miss Kathie waves at me, I sheepishly wave back.

Ana giggles and splashes me with vanilla.

"Hey, what was that for?"

"Sometimes you have to get a little messy to be happy."

"I'm afraid."

"Of what?" Her gaze is so kind and lovely.

I look behind us and out onto the audience. "The eyes of my past."

"Don't look back there. Just look at me." She outstretches her palm for me to take. I stare at it, then with a shaky hand of my own, I intertwine my fingers with hers and like a spell was cast, the people disappear. Our eyes locked, I step over the edges of the vat as she holds my arm. I stumble and her hands catch my chest to hold me up. Amazingly, I don't flinch. We just stay like this for a few moments.

"Does that hurt?" She asks, stroking my chest.

"No," I say, astonished. "It feels so nice for you to touch me."

A tear falls from my eye and she catches it in her palm and kisses it away. And just like that, all the pain and sorrow I've suffered for a lifetime disappears.

I steady myself and stand upright, taking her hands in mine. Ana is so beautiful, ethereal even, standing before me, with me, in our own little sea of vanilla. I lean in to kiss her, but she pushes my chin back.

"You can't kiss the bride until it's official."

"How do we make it official, then?" My mouth aching to be on hers and for her to really be mine.

Suddenly, Ben and Jerry appear before us at the pulpit dressed as priests, still holding their milk bottles. Thank God that cow didn't come.

"Are you ready to marry this woman?" Ben asks.

"I've never been more ready for anything," I say, looking back to my Ana, with a feeling in my newly found heart, beneath my newly touched chest, that the word love wouldn't do justice.

"And you, Miss Steele," Jerry says. "Are you ready to take on this troubled, mercurial, fifty shades of fucked up man for the rest of your life? You're very young, you know, and he works out. It could be a long, long time."

"You put that so eloquently," I smirk. "Remind me to call you if I ever need to be talked off a ledge." They shush me and all eyes, including mine, turn back to Ana.

She smiles and opens her mouth, the word 'yes' forms on her lips, but out comes a blood curdling scream, instead.

I wake abruptly to Ana's cries. She's tangled up in the sheets, tossing and turning, still asleep, writhing in some nightmare. What do I do? I've only had my own nightmares to deal with before. I've never seen anyone else's. I feel helpless. We just almost got married in a vat of vanilla ice cream and now this.

"Ana," I say, shaking her, imploring her to wake. She still tosses about. "Jesus, Ana, wake up!" She's such a heavy sleeper. If it was my nightmare, I would've woken myself up and been at the piano, heavy into Bach by now.

Finally, her eyes pop open. She's disoriented. She blinks a couple of times, seemingly to find her bearings. I'm still trying to find my own.

"Baby, are you okay? You were having a bad dream." I stroke her hair to try and calm her. Her brow is sweaty. Whatever it was really frightened her.

I switch on the bedside lamp. She's still shaking, and she's so pale.

"The girl," she whispers.

"What girl?" I ask, petting and planting feather-like kisses on her shoulder.

"There was a girl outside SIP when I left work this evening. She looked like me, but not. She was in my dream."

Oh fuck. In a fraction of a second I fully wake to reality, and my whole world comes crashing down. I stop my pets and kisses, and I know Ana can see the expression drop from my face.

"When was this?" My words trip out of my throat.

"When I left work, I said. Do you know who she is?"

I turn away from her, running my fingers through my hair in exasperation.

"Christian, do you?"

"Yes," I mutter quietly.

"Who is she?"

I don't want to say her name, because I don't want to make her real. And, I sure as hell don't want her fucking up what I have with Ana.

"Who is she?" Ana presses again. She's a presser, that one.

I exhale. There's no escape from this. "Leila."

She's quiet for a moment. I turn back to her and the saddest look passes over her face. "Your ex-lover?"

"Submissive, Ana!" I shoot back immediately. "We were never lovers, you know that."

"She's the one who put '_Toxic_' on your iPod." She frowns, recalling.

I nod, wishing she hadn't. "Did she say anything?" I try to hide my panic, but I can't. My clenched fists and shaking voice betray me.

"Yes, she asked me a question." I look up at her, anxiously. "'What do you have that I don't have?'" The tone she mimics her in is bone chilling.

I close my eyes and shake my head. Fuck. I have to call Taylor. I jump up from the bed and throw on my pants. Pulling my cell from my pocket, I head to the living room and dial.

"Sir, is there a problem with Ana's cans?" Taylor answers. On the second ring, at five in the fucking morning, may I add. Why's he so up and Adam about Ana's cans?

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" I realize I'm hollering when the dog next door starts barking. I'm not used to living right next to people... or dogs.

"The pantry. Could you find everything you needed?"

I breathe a sigh of relief. At least he's not blatantly after Ana's breasts, but I know secretly he gets his peeks in. Fucker.

"Yes, your can stacking abilities were exemplary." What does this guy want me to do, stroke his dick just because he put mandarin oranges and navy beans in proper alphabetical order in Ana's cabinets?

"You forgot a turkey in the front seat. It's in your freezer now. What should I do with it next?"

"Fuck the turkey!" The dog is howling now. I lower my voice, gathering myself. "I don't mean literally fuck it, just leave it be. We have a serious problem on our hands. Leila went to see Ana."

"When?" The alarm is evident in his tone.

"As she left work. She approached her." Ana crosses in front of me, dressed only in my white T-shirt, and heads to the kitchen. My cock twitches as her ass swishes through. Uh oh, what's she doing swishing by? "What time did you say, Ana?"

"About ten to six." I lose sight of her behind, behind the door, but I see the light flicker on. Damn that ass was sexy in my shirt.

"Ten to six," I relay to Taylor.

"I'll call Welch, sir."

"Yes, get on it. We have to find her. She's in trouble. And I swear, Taylor..." A swell of emotion ceases my throat. "If anything happens to Ana..." My fist clenches at my side.

"I know, sir."

I hang up the phone and head to the kitchen to find Ana. I think I'm in trouble. She hasn't looked at me, or said a word since I've been standing in the doorway. Normally, I would find comfort in a woman with eyes cast down, quietly busying herself in a kitchen. But, I've recently learned from Cosmopolitan that silence and lack of eye contact from a woman of free will means that that dog next door better make room for me in his little house.

"Would you like some tea?" She speaks! She doesn't sound too mad. Thank God. I approach her as she fills the tea kettle, and stroke my fingers gently down the sides of her arms.

"Actually, I'd really like to go back to bed," I lean in, whispering in her ear, seductively.

"Actually, I'd really like some tea." She scoots away and places the kettle on the stove. Fuck, she's got that 'I want to talk' look on her face. I have to keep reminding myself that girlfriends do that.

"What is it, Ana?"

She lights the fire under the pot, then turns back to face me.

"Aren't you going to tell me?"

"No." I feel like a hunted rabbit, suddenly. I fear there is no escape from her impending question assault and I have no hole to hide.

"Why?"

"Because, it shouldn't concern you. I don't want you tangled up in all this shit."

"Well, this shit was tangled up right outside my work. It does concern me, whether you want it to or not. How does she know about me? About where I work? I have a right to know."

I run both of my hands through my hair. Christ, if you tell her, then she'll really know what you're all about, Grey. She'll see how you fucked up this girl's head. She'll fear that you'll do the same to her. She'll run... I close my eyes, pained by the thought. I would cease to breathe if that happened again.

I've been thinking about that last day with Leila, with everything that's happened. When she told me she loved me and I told her to go. Because, if she felt anywhere near the pain I felt when Ana left me, I can see how she lost her mind.

"Please, tell me," Ana says softly as the water in the kettle boils. "You weren't still seeing her, were you? I mean, lately..." She looks down and picks at what's left of her thumbnail polish.

I gape at her, horrified. "What? How could you ever think that? I think you're the one who's gone mad."

"So, she's gone mad, has she?" Leave it to Ana to use her feminine wiles to wheedle the truth out of me.

I nod. "Yes, I mean, she's not well... I don't know how she knows about you, though. Probably the picture of us in the paper. As you know, I've never been photographed with a woman before. So, if she saw it, she knew."

"She knew what?"

I move closer to her and stroke the side of her face with my fingers.

"This was more."

Ana smiles sweetly as the kettle sounds. She moves to it, readying two teacups for us, as I sit down on a breakfast bar stool and wait for her. She dunks her tea bag in her cup twice, quickly, of course, and cutely discards it.

"When we were in Georgia, she showed up at the apartment and made a scene in front of Gail," I say, as she hands me my teacup.

"Gail?" She asks, blowing on her steaming tea as she sits on the stool next to me. Her lips look so hot when she blows on that steam.

"Mrs. Jones."

"What do you mean by 'a scene'?"

If I tell her, she'll run... Fuck.

"Ana, I-" I can't risk it.

"Christian, tell me." It's an order, and being the self assured, strong, in control dominant I am around Ana, I submit.

"She made a haphazard attempt to open a vein." The words are out before I know it.

Ana gasps, sloshing tea over the side of her cup. It burns her finger. She sets her cup down, bringing her wound to her mouth to suck on it. I pull it from her lips and place it on mine, kissing it to try and make it better. I'm the cause of this pain, too.

"I'm sorry. Does it hurt?"

"I'm okay. Please continue." One final kiss, and I place her hand down.

"Gail got her to the hospital. But, Leila discharged herself before I could get there."

"So, you left Georgia because of her?" She sounds wounded.

"I had to." How can I tell her I think it's all my fault? You can't, Grey.

"She's suicidal?"

"The shrink who saw her called it a typical cry for help. He didn't believe her to be truly at risk—one step from suicidal ideation, he called it. But I'm not convinced. I've been trying to track her down since then to get her some help."

"Did she say anything to Mrs. Jones?"

I recall what Gail told me. Leila was crying, pleading to see me. She kept saying I could bring order back for her. That everything was wrong now. Gail said I was away and Leila lashed out, accusing Gail of lying for me. She asked if I had someone new. Gail didn't answer, but it all makes sense now, with what Leila said to Ana. If she saw that photo... She told Gail that she loved me and if I wouldn't have her the devil could, because that's exactly who she sold her soul to the day she agreed to be mine. That's when she cut herself and bled all over my floor.

"Not much," I say eventually, not willing to share those horrors with Ana. She'll see the monster I've been; the monster I really am.

Ana pushes my cup closer to me, with a small, sweet smile. She's offering me comfort and compassion in this tea made with her love. I've never had such an offer before.

"You can't find her? What about her family?" She asks, as I take a sip. It's warm and good.

"They don't know where she is. Neither does her husband."

"Husband?" She looks at me like I'm fork tongued serpent. I'm not sure why, except that I probably am.

"Yes," I say, not able to clear away thoughts of today and how Leila could've hurt Ana. All because of me. Damn it! I don't care how sick Leila is, if anything would've happened to my Ana... If anything does... The thought pierces my heart.

"So she was with you while she was married?"

"What? No! Good God, no. She was with me nearly three years ago. Then she left and married this guy shortly afterward." In rebound. She met him in the airport, right after I sent her away. She wrote me a note telling me of their engagement, trying to make me jealous, but I honestly wasn't. I didn't care. I've never cared. Not until Ana. I just threw the note away and moved on.

"So, why is she trying to get your attention now?"

"I don't know. All we've managed to find out is that she ran out on her husband about four months ago."

"Let me get this straight. She hasn't been your submissive for three years?"

"About two and a half years."

"And she wanted more." Where's she going with this?

"Yes."

"But you didn't?"

"Of course not. You know this."

"So she left you."

"Yes."

"So why is she coming to you now?"

I take her hand and play with her fingers. I just need to touch her. I'm less afraid when I can feel her skin on mine.

"I think it has to do with you."

"I don't understand."

"Her question." I stroke her bare ring finger. "What do you have that she doesn't have?" I look up, my eyes meeting hers.

"You."

I nod. "Me."

"She had you once." Ana turns her head away. I clasp her chin and turn it back to me.

"No, she didn't. She knows that. You're the only one I've ever belonged to."

She smiles, shyly, a dust of cherry blushing her cheeks. I hold her hand in both of mine and pull it up to my face, placing my forehand on our knotted up fingers.

"Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?" I ask. Maybe we could've caught her and this nightmare would be over.

"I forgot. You know, with your testosterone rush."

"What?" I look up.

"Yes, your caveman pissing contest with Jack."

"I'll show you a testosterone rush." I smile, wickedly.

"Don't you want your tea?"

I shake my head. Putting all thoughts and worries of this past half-hour aside, I want her. No, I need her. She's the only thing that heals me.

"I want you in bed. Now."

I get up fast and pick her up from the stool, hoisting her over my shoulder. She starts to giggle.

"What are you doing?"

"You said I was a caveman, I'm dragging you to my proverbial cave."

I take her into the bedroom and throw her down on the bed.

"You have something that belongs to me, Miss Steele."

Not taking my eyes off of her, I slide my pants off and let them drop to the floor. She inhales sharply. Completely naked, I crawl toward her on the bed, and hover over her body.

"This is my shirt you're wearing, Miss Steele." I touch the cotton edge bunching up at her waist.

"Do you want it back?" She asks, coyly.

"Yes." I nod, with wicked intention. I slide my hands up her waist and lift the cotton from her skin. My mouth follows the trail my hands have paved as I push the shirt farther up her body. I fondle her for a moment, squeezing and taunting her nipples. They harden so quickly under my touch. She moans as I lift her up and pull the shirt off and over her head, bringing her upright so her eyes meet mine.

"I don't want to think about her or any of that shit right now, do you hear me?" My tone deep, demanding and full of carnal promise as my forehead presses to hers.

She nods, biting her lip.

"I just want to fuck your brains out," I say, taking that bottom lip between my teeth and biting it for her.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Happy so many of you enjoyed Christian's crazy dream! Thanks for all the reviews! I was thinking of doing a father's day special story about Teddy's birth, if you guys would be interested. **_

Three glorious fucks. Four, if you count the blow job and six thrust quickie during our post vanilla shower. If I could, I'd stay cocooned in last night, wrapped in her arms for eternity. It is my favorite place to be, buried inside of her. But, like Ana, dawn always comes.

A cat hisses at me, bringing me out of my coital recall, in the alleyway next to a trashcan filled with dirty Pampers and other miscellaneous baby waste that's caddy-corner to Miss Steele's empty parking spot. Funny, that cat sounds like Ana when she's mad at me. Which she is going to be when she finds out what I'm doing outside, waiting here at six in the morning, while she obliviously snoozes. Where the fuck is he? It's cold out here and I'm not wearing underwear. My balls shiver beneath my thin pants. I hope this chill brings them no harm. Ana may want children one day. Wait. What am I fucking saying? I look at the trashcan. The smell from those diapers is enough to deter any of my anarchist sperm with ideas of procreation. I've trained my men well. No babies until my age is as many as shades I am fucked up. At least.

"Fucking finally!" I throw my arms in the air as Anastasia's Audi drives up, with Taylor behind the wheel. The cat runs off as the headlights beam, blinding everything in their path. Taylor stops the car and rolls open the window, casually, like he's a teenager on a weekend joyride. He's probably just getting his rocks off to be driving anything of Ana's.

"Where do you want it, sir?"

"In the space I am standing in!" Honestly, where the fuck does he think I want it? Inside her apartment? He'd like that. He'd get to see her and finger her cans again. I step to the side to give him room to pull in, motioning with my hands to direct traffic.

After what feels like nine years of pulling in, adjusting, then repeating and repeating and fucking repeating, the car is parked. You'd think he was landing on an aircraft carrier with all the precision this took. It's an Audi! They practically park themselves! He gets out of the car and hands me the keys.

"Why has everything taken you so long tonight?" I ask as I grab them.

"It's morning now, sir."

"It took you long enough, I'm surprised it's not night again!"

"I'm sorry, I was talking to Welch when you texted, Mr. Grey. And, I had to pack the bag you requested. I apologize, I couldn't find your groin deodorant."

"What about the jasmine honeysuckle body wash with moisture extenders?"

"Yes, I found that, sir."

He hands me a Louis Vuitton duffel he has stowed in the back seat. Good, clean underwear and some Power Bars. I grab it from him.

"What did Welch have to say?"

"No luck yet. He'll know more later."

"Fuck, if I had a dollar for everything Welch would know later, I'd be, well... richer than God!" I rub my brow. "I'm serious, Ana's safety is top priority! And when I say top, I mean before my own."

"Of course, sir." He gives me a reassuring nod. "If that's all, I'll be on my way." He starts to take off.

"No, that's not all!"

He stops in his tracks and turns back, expectantly.

"I need you to buy me something," I whisper, inching closer to him, just in case gossip hungry ears from an open window or that cat can hear me.

"Yes, sir?"

"I need some red lipstick."

"Lipstick, sir?"

"Lipstick. Today. And I don't mean sheer, shimmery shit. I need hard harlot red that doesn't come off of skin easy." He looks at me kind of oddly. Fuck it, he's filled weirder requests.

"I'll bring you selections from Neiman's, sir."

"Good." I've decided that Ana will help me make a map tonight. For her. For me. For us.

He nods and takes off into the fog of the not yet woken morning. To where, who knows. He's such a man of mystery. I don't know how he gets to half the places he does. Sometimes I wonder if he's really a bat.

The cat hisses again. This time looking at me like he might attack and he might have rabies. That's my cue to head inside and get my frozen balls under the covers with Ana.

I tip-toe back into the dark room, setting my bag down and removing my clothes with the stealth of high end art thief. She stirs. Shit. No, she's just mumbling again from her sleep. I hope it's not about Leila. It pains me that my fucked up life has caused my sweet Ana nightmares. I pause, pants halfway down my naked legs, to listen.

"Feed me your strawberries, Christian." Another dream about those damn strawberries. She likes the forbidden fruits. I'll have to tie her up and feed her some later after we draw all over my body with that lipstick.

Thinking entirely too much about my sexually charged strawberries and Ana's eating habits, my ankle slips and twists in the leg of my pants, causing me to trip and slam my toe straight into a clay potted fern.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath as the fern rustles like it's telling me off.

"Christian, what are you doing?"

Shit. She's caught me. It's too early to have the argument I know we're going to have over the return of the Audi. My balls need more rest to gain strength for the war.

"Uh, I had to piss," I turn to her, holding my throbbing toe and throwing the pants away from me. Maybe she can't see what an ass I am in this low light.

"Why did you get dressed to go to the bathroom?" She can. Fuck. She is like that cat.

"I was cold and it's hard to pee when I'm cold." Fast thinking, Grey.

"Okay, come back and get your pee-pee warm," she murmurs, yawning and immediately nodding off again. That girl can sleep in a blink. Good, she noticed nothing strange, but my usual strangeness.

I slink back into my side of the bed. I have a side, I marvel, as I watch Anastasia sleeping next to me on hers. If I'm facing the bed, I'm a righty. But, if I'm lying down, I'm a lefty. I'm not sure how this works in the land of coupledom, but fuck it, I have a side! I never had a side before. All of the vastness of my king was mine alone. How can I be so ridiculously excited to be cast to just a bed half for the rest if my life? The rest of my life... A man can dream... And, I hope my vanilla vat wedding dreams really do come true.

I lay watching her by the faint light of the early sun, much like I did that first night at the Heathman. It soothes me to hear her breath, to see her lashes flutter as she dreams, to smell her sweetness next to me. To know that she is resting and I am caring for her, protecting her while she does. I brush the hair tangled around her neck away. The way it wraps makes me nervous it'll strangle her if I'm not on watch. I am the keeper of her neck and her body and her heart. I must make sure she is always safe. This Leila situation got me thinking. I've never felt like this before, but I would willingly sacrifice my life for Ana's.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her eyes not fully open, but aware of my gaze.

"Just watching you." I give her a quick kiss on the nose.

"Am I putting on a show?"

"Just your snoring."

"I do not!"

"No, but you really want my strawberries."

She smiles.

"You should get some more rest, Miss Steele."

"Back at you, Mr. Grey."

"On one condition."

"You want sex again, now?" She yawns.

"Don't act so enthused. Well, I always do, but that can wait. Can we do the spoons thing again?" I ask, nuzzling her hair.

She giggles as she scoots her back to my front. And holding her, I fall into a sleep free from nightmares and full of the delicious possibilities of two loving spoons in their very own little drawer.

With one eye popped open, I see both of hers watching me. Curious... My other eye pops to join its alerted comrade, so that we're not ocularly outnumbered. She looks happy, well fucked, and highly suspicious as she tucks her hand away from me and under her pillow. I'm not sure why she's tucking so quickly, but my best armchair detective hunch is that she has a hand itchy to explore my naked chest in my slumber. Did she touch me? I inhale sharply. That must be what woke me. Her warmth near the timid flesh that covers my caged heart.

"Hi," she says, shyly. It should be illegal to be this stunning after just waking. Her smile is brighter than the sunshine that lights the room through the thin lace curtains. Too thin, I deduce. Far too easy for predator Toms to peep through. But, I'll bite my tongue on that one. Although, I'd rather bite hers. I never knew how lovely it could be to wake wrapped around somebody. Not just somebody, Ana. And I am thoroughly wrapped, I notice. Like seaweed around spicy little tuna rolls, my limbs squeeze around her gloriously naked frame. She's sweating from our tangled heat and she smells of sex and flowers and the tiniest remembrance of vanilla. Last night, aside from the Leila shit, was simply more.

"Hi," I say, untangling myself and turning to face her. "What are you up to this morning, Miss Steele?" I tip-toe my fingers between her breasts.

"I could ask you the same question." She traces her fingers down my happy trail and softly strokes my boy who's quickly growing into a man.

"I think you're up to no good," I say, as she clasps my morning wood and starts to move up and down with her tight little hand. I gasp. All thoughts of her probable misdeeds forgotten as my penis starts doing all my thinking for me.

"I like being up to no good next to you, Mr. Grey."

"You do?" I groan.

She smiles, coyly. Her soft palm stroking my first class cadet into submission. This is one helluva hand job. It's hard to believe a month ago she hadn't even said a how-do-you-do to a penis before, and now she strokes it like a contest winner. That thought immediately disturbs me. I will not entertain any prize seeking penises.

"How was last night, Miss Steele?" I lean into her and nuzzle her ear. She has the sweetest little lobe. I love taking it between my teeth and tugging.

"I don't know. I can't remember a thing about it."

"What?" I stop my nuzzling teeth tug. She can't remember? Has she no good recollection of our lovemaking? Was I underwhelming? It meant so much to me, was it nothing to her? I suddenly feel emotional and vulnerable and somewhat cheap.

"My brains were thoroughly fucked out..." She shrugs and giggles, and I flip her onto her back, hovering over her.

"You like to tease me, Miss Steele." I pin her wrists on either side of her head. My elbows propped beside, hoisting me up so I can watch her.

"Among other things I like to do with you."

I lean in and kiss her chest, my mouth traveling to her nipple. It hardens anticipating my approach.

"Sex or breakfast?" I suck her peak, nibbling and pulling it gently with my teeth.

She moans, tilting her hips upward, brushing my erection with her inner thigh and tuft of her pubic hair.

"Good choice."

########

No, Mrs. Bolder, I'm fine." Ana says to someone at the front door as I enter the living room, holding the jasmine body wash in one hand and a super sized loofah on a stick in the other, all ready for our shower. Who the fuck is bothering us? This is why I have Taylor. To shoo people away who want to be neighborly.

"I heard all the screaming and I thought there was a murder," an old woman in a daffodil spotted jogging suit says. "I watch CSI and I know how this works." She tilts her silver mopped head to look behind Ana and spots me straightening my waist slung towel. Why does this old woman and that jogging suit seem so damn familiar? And why is she gawking at me in my state of au naturale?

"We had a movie on..." Ana scrunches her nose. She always does that when she fibs. I have to laugh. That would be one helluva best selling porno. "Christian say hello." Why the hell is she bringing me into this? And why the hell is she moving to the side for the old goose to have a better gander?

"Hello." I nod. "Goodbye." I head back to the shower to ready my loofah. The things I could do with this stick...

"You!" The old lady says, pointing at me, excitedly, stopping me in my tracks. I don't like when people get excited around me. That's when things beyond my control happen. And eighty year olds these days are very spry with all the advances in prescription medications.

"Me?" I ask, turning back around.

"I know you!"

"I don't think so."

"You were crying in the rain last weekend." Oh, fuck maybe she does know me.

A dog barks.

Oh shit! The dog! The daffodils! The faint smell of lavender masking arthritic cream! It's that woman! The old one with the cotton ball dog I ran into when I was stalking Ana during the dark days of our split. The one who ran up the walk in fear of my oddity. Yep, the dog's eyeing me from her quilted handbag. He knows me. Little fucker.

"You're the jogger!"

"Uh... I don't jog."

"Yes, you do!" Ana says, looking at me like I'm a geometry problem whose angles don't add up. My angles are feeling quite acute under this drafty towel right about now.

The dog barks louder. Is the whole fucking world conspiring against me?

"I'm so sorry," the old lady says, quieting her dog with strips of questionable meat from a well used ziplock bag. "I thought you were one of those mental people that escapes sometime..." she says, as way of explanation.

"Or a stalker?"Ana adds, with bite.

"No, just a boyfriend." I'm not sure that sounded convincingly different.

"You can never be too careful, you know. They're among us." Geez, this woman is so paranoid about mental patients and murderers, maybe she's one herself. "Well, Biff and I should let you two get back to..." She eyes my naked chest. So does Biff. "Whatever it was you two were working on."

"Yes, you and Biff really should. Nice to see you and the family, again." Biff growls at me in my state of buff. "Safe travels." I shut the door fast.

"That wasn't polite." Ana castigates.

"She called me an escaped mental patient!"

"And?"

"I've never escaped from anywhere!"

"So, you were stalking me?"

"Of course I was, what did you expect?"

"Why?"

"I needed to know you were safe."

"That's it?"

"Well, no..." I shrug. "I missed you."

"You really missed me?" Haven't I told her this a million times since Thursday? Is it only now sinking in? I think I see a tear forming in her right eye.

"Oh Ana, you have no idea." I take her in my arms and hold her in an embrace for a precious few moments. "I really did lose my mind when you were gone. Now, you have two witnesses."

"Mrs. Boulder and who else?"

"Biff."

Ana laughs. I finally break away and tilt her chin up with my hand. "Now, Miss Steele are you going to join me in the shower or do I have to loofah alone?"

She smiles, then follows me to the steamed up bathroom.

#######

I watch her dress. Towel around my waist, fresh from our shower and fuck number five, I stand with dripping hair, devouring her with my gaze. She's so damn sexy. Although, watching her undress is one of my all time favorite pastimes, seeing her slip on her panties, place the lace cups of her bra over her breasts and lotion up her legs is its own kind of erotic experience. I've never watched a girl dress before Ana. There's an unsung intimacy in starting the day together. Readying to face the unknown hours ahead as one.

"How often do you work out?" she asks, trying to sound nonchalant, but I know she's staring at my pecks. I give them an extra flex for her eye candy.

"Every weekday." I drop my towel, allowing her eyes to feast on my beast for a few moments before sliding on my boxer briefs. She's checking me out, I like this. I think I had it wrong all these years. It's hot when a girl looks at you without permission. I take that back, only when that girl is Ana.

"What do you do for your-" she loses her train of thought. It's because yesterday was 'tris and bis' day and I'm freshly bulging in all those female magnetizing places. "Your... muscles?"

"I'm not sure what you mean." I cock my head and raise a brow. I may play dumb, but I know exactly what she means as I lean one arm onto the dresser, posing for her like the guy did in that Cosmo advice column entitled: Your Man, Your 'O': How many is he really giving you?' Believe me, I could school them on the letter 'O'. I'm like the Sesame Street of sex.

"Your workouts." She licks her lips and swallows. Fuck, why did I just put my pants on? I want to rip them off and make her swallow some more.

"Running, weights, kickboxing..." I stretch, making sure my six pack is tightened and on display, available for consumption.

"It works." She exhales and it's almost a pant.

I grin, with a lascivious glint in my eye.

"You should give Claude a try. He was an Olympic contender."

"Claude?"

"My trainer." Normally, a muscled man alone with a sweaty Ana doing squats and thrusts would be cause for my concern, but he's been in so many street fights he looks like he was mauled by bear. Plus, I heard he's been kicked a few too many times south of the belt that certain members of his brigade don't always engage when it's time for battle. Welch did deep research on him.

"Why do I need a trainer when I have you?"

"I want you to be able to keep up."

"With what?" She frowns, looking suddenly concerned. Thoughts of my playroom that last day are coming back to her, I can feel it. Fuck, I don't want her to think about all that.

"With me. I want to fuck you, daily, for hours on end."

"What about nightly?"

"I think I showed you a preview of nights with me, last night."

"So you want me to spend nights with you?"

"Yeah," I gulp, my voice catching in my throat. "Why?" Doesn't she want to spend nights with me? I suddenly feel faint.

"I mean, you said you didn't like that. Like during the week and stuff."

I move to her and stroke my hand along her cheek.

"I couldn't stay away from you all week."

She smiles. "Maybe I will meet this Claude." I smile. "Is he cute?" I frown.

"He's heinously ugly. A hunchback. One of his eyes barely opens." She laughs like she thinks I'm kidding. It's the truth.

"Sounds intriguing."

I pull her into my arms, her mouth nearly meeting mine.

"Are you trying to make me jealous?"

"You're cute when you're jealous." I'm cute... She thinks I'm cute... I swoon a little.

She smiles and I give her a quick, yet passionate kiss, then let her go and continue to dress.

She throws on a T-shirt and jeans. I love the way they cup her ass, but I'm not thrilled she goes out into public with such provocatively tight denim. Her hair is pinned up from the shower, I notice. She's about to take it down. I move to her.

"Allow me," I take hold of the pins and pull them free. Her wavy chestnut locks fall down and around her face. I love seeing her hair spilled out on her shoulders and dusting her chest.

"It's so long and blah," she says, feathering it with her fingers.

"You are gorgeous." I kiss the top of her hair, inhaling her sweet scent, then fluffing her hair with my hands. She's so fun to fluff. "So what do you want to do today?" I've never asked that question before. It's ripe with possibilities. Especially since I'm not the one thinking up the possibilities. Mind blown.

"I need a haircut and I need to cash my check so I can buy a new car."

Oh fuck. Here it is. The moment I've been dreading. Audi-Gate!

"Don't be mad." Christ, why'd you start off like that, Grey? That's just alerting her to the fact that what you are about to tell her will make her mad, which will only serve to make her more mad than she would've been if she was just plain mad.

"At what?" She's mad.

"It's here."

"What's here?"

I reach for yesterday's pants and pull out the keys to her Audi. "Here." Gulp.

"Here, here?!" Who the fuck gets mad when you buy them a car? Daytime talk shows thrive on the shit!

"Taylor delivered it earlier."

She's scarily calm as she stares at me. I take in her slow, measured strides as she heads to her dresser. I briefly wonder if that's where she has a knife or a vile of poison meant for me, but she reaches for the familiar GEH monogrammed envelope, instead. It's still sealed. How did she not open it by now? No wonder she hasn't let me have it about the money. She hasn't seen all the zeros inside!

"This is yours." She moves back to me, pushing the envelope into my hands.

"No, that's yours." I push it back. "Money made from the sale of your death mobile."

"But, you gave me a car, which you've just given back to me again."

"So, you'll take it?"

"I'll buy it." She pushes it back again.

"I gave it to you as a graduation gift." I push back and that's the final push as this pusher will not be pushed back at again!

"If you had given me pen, that would've been reasonable."

"Anastasia, that's what monetarily challenged saps give their girlfriends. Didn't we have this talk about the McDonald's comparison?"

"Are you a classist?"

"No, I'm a billionaire. We don't have a class. It's more like me, a grouping of elderly men and Oprah."

"What are you saying?"

"An Audi is like a pen to me!"

"So it meant nothing?" She has the audacity to sound wounded!

"That's not what I'm saying." How did she turn it around to this so fast? She's good. This is why I never fought with women before. I'm too easily beaten and I prefer to be the beater. Poor choice of wordage.

"What are you saying?" This question is full of so many tricks it could be a Saturday night hooker.

"Keep the fucking car!"

"Fine, I'll buy it from you." She's waving that envelope again, using my company stationary against me.

"Oh, no you won't. I won't take a penny of my money." I step away.

"Neither will I." She rips the envelope up and throws it into the waste basket.

What?! Now, I'm livid!

"Don't push me, Anastasia!"

I grab my phone from the bedside table and dial Andrea. She doesn't answer until the fourth fucking ring, which hampers the dramatic effect of my call.

"Yes, Mr. Grey?" She sounds hung over. This girl is a wreck outside the office.

"Deposit $24,000 into Miss Anastasia Steele's account."

"Yes, sir. She'll have it Monday."

"Why not today?"

"It's Saturday," she says, like that's supposed to mean something to me.

"Do I sound like that is a concern of mine?"

"Accounting doesn't do banking on Saturday."

"Well, it's fucking Sunday somewhere, isn't it?!"

"They don't do accounting on Sunday, either."

I have no rebuttal.

"Fine, Monday! First thing!"

I hang up and look to the gaping face of the newly richer on Monday morning account holder.

"$24,000?!"

"Surprised me, too."

"No, there's no way-"

"Taylor said it's a classic, and he knows." I think his wording was classic heap of shit, but no need to elaborate on details. "Some lunatic hippie who collects Volkswagens bought it for the full twenty-four." Okay, hundred. I added an extra zero to the check. But, who on God's green earth can blame me? I didn't want her buying another death trap from the photographer's mother's mother's mother! How does that woman still own cars anyway? She must be 107!

"How do you know my account number?" Ana asks me with narrow eyes.

"I know everything about you." I shrug. She's looking at me like that's a bad thing.

"You buy the company I work for, a car, put thousands of dollars into my account without my permission, what's next a house?!"

Oh fuck. Poker face, Grey. Don't tell her about the estate yet!

"Honestly, Christian!"

We glare at each other for a few moments. I don't like this. She's way too hot right now just to glare at. When she's mad her lips pout and her chest heaves. My erection is pounding. Not able to take it anymore I thrust myself forward, pushing her backward into the wall, claiming her mouth with mine. She resists at first, but quickly succumbs to my demands.

"Why do you defy me at every turn?"

"Because, I can." She shoots up a defiant brow.

I have to smile. Yes, she can. She can get away with anything around me. I rest my forehead against hers and sigh.

"Please, Anastasia. Take the car. I just want you to be safe."

She exhales. "Okay. But, this discussion isn't over-"

I kiss her, stopping all discussion, at least for the moment, as our tongues wrap around each other. As I feel the heat intensify, I pull back, catching my breath heavy with want.

"I so want to fuck you right now, but you need feeding and I have no more condoms." Another thing Taylor fucking forgot!

"I think we can accomplish both, Mr. Grey," she says, kissing me softly, then falling to her knees.

#########

"I'll get the check," Ana says, practically attacking the waitress to retrieve it before I can.

"Jesus, what did I say about emasculation, Anastasia?"

"That it's a process." She smirks.

"You are one aggravating female."

"You have to be quick around here, Mr. Grey!" She pulls out her little bank card with her picture on it. She's looks so cute and official in her ponytail and high collared blouse. It was definitely before I took her virginity.

"Don't I know it."

"Hey, I can afford..." she reads the check. "...twenty-two dollars and sixty-seven cents. I'm $24,000 richer."

I have to shake my head. Ana has me by the balls. Shit, if Leila would've pulled a stunt like that, she'd be tied to the ceiling and meeting my cat. Leila... Fuck, she's still out there. I have to stay on high alert today to protect Ana.

"Where'd you just go?" Ana asks, pulling me back from my dark cave of worry and woe.

"What?"

"You were thinking about something."

"I was just thinking how lovely you look. Do you really want your haircut?" I touch her tip ends. So soft between my fingers.

"Yes, it's a mop. Plus, we have your father's party tonight. I want it to look nice." She sounds excited; it's adorable. I normally dread this affair, but tonight is different. Tonight, I have Ana.

"You'd look nice with a mullet, Miss Steele."

"Perhaps I should try that style."

"Over my twitching palm."

"Your palm's twitchy now, is it?"

"It's always in a state of dormant twitch around you."

She giggles.

"So, tell me about this party."

"It's at my parent's home. Under a tent. It's black tie. For charity." I brush it away as best I can.

"What charity?" I tense. Of course Ana, ever curious, wants details. But, I don't like talking about this.

"Just a rehab program for drug addicted parents and their kids." Every year, sitting alone, I listen to countless stories of moms getting better and reuniting with the children they love. Not that I'm not happy for these successes, I am, but it's just a glaring reminder that that wasn't me.

"Sounds like a good cause," she says, softly. Too softly.

I don't want her pity. I turn and sip my coffee to avoid her sad eyes. At least Seattle's best won't feel sorry for me.

"Hey!" she shouts out, like she suddenly remembers something.

I nearly spit my freshly brewed beans. "What?"

She smiles, twisting her little mouth. "Is this your first date?"

"What?"

"Tonight?"

"What do you mean? We've been out to dinner. That art show for the photographer. This breakfast would feel date-ish if I was paying."

"No, I mean a 'big date'. Fancy clothes, dancing, lots of people..."

"Yes, Miss Steele, you are my very first 'big date'.

"And, you are mine."

"Yes, yours."

She kisses me sweetly.

"What was that for?"

"Just for being you."

"I don't understand."

"Oh Christian, I wish you would." She smiles so lovely and shakes her head.

"You know, there's a lot more I want to do with you before tonight," I say, stroking my fingers on her arm. Her little hairs stand on end in reaction to my touch.

"I don't think we should have sex before our first date."

"Oh, we broke that rule long ago."I hold her fingers, playing with them one by one.

"Kinda put the cart before the horse, didn't we, Mr. Grey?"

"Oh, Ana-"

I want to tell her I love her. It's strange. Out of nowhere, I have this biting urge to say it, but my throat completely freezes up. I grab for juice as I choke on those three little words.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. A catch in my throat. Let's take you to get your hair cut. I know a place."

We walk hand in hand down the city streets toward the salon. There's a sense of pride as her fingers bind to mine, showing everyone who passes that she belongs to me, and I, in turn, to her. I've never wanted to hold a girl's hand before I met her. Even on our first coffee date, which was actually the first date I ever asked a girl out on, I felt the urge to place her palm in mine. To join our lives in some way. In its simplicity, it's far more intimate than I've ever been with any other person.

"I should take you shopping around here," I say, taking in all the high scale boutiques that line the boulevard. Silks and satins. That's what my Ana should wear.

"So you can spend even more obscene amounts of money on me?"

"Yes."

A sign flashes telling us not to walk. We both obey and she looks up at me.

"I don't need all that, you know."

I clasp her chin with my fingers.

"I know." Pulling her mouth to mine, I give her a soft kiss.

"Where are we going?" she asks, as the sign changes, giving us the go-ahead to move foreword with our lives.

"It's a surprise."

"I don't like surprises."

"I don't know why. You're a living, breathing surprise."

"I am not."

"You are to me, everyday." I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss her fingers.

We reach Esclava. I like what Elena has done with the place. It's modern and chic and the new marble she put in looks nice. It's not warm, but she didn't want it to be. She wanted it to feel indulgent and expensive, like everything in her life. Hopefully she'll do nicely at the new branch. Thank God she's not here anymore.

I open the front door and usher Anastasia in.

"Hello Mr. Grey!"

Fuck, it's that chatty little German girl with the odd gum to tooth ratio. What's her name? Heidi? No. "Gwynn? No...

"Greta!" That mouth looks like a freshly hooked trout with pink lipstick. Maybe I should tell Taylor to ask her where she buys her lipstick. It doesn't look like it ever comes off.

"Yes, Mr. Grey. How are you today?" Enough with the familiarities!

"Fine. This is Anastasia."

I push Ana forward, resting a hand affectionately on each of her shoulders, to give Greta the hint that Ana is not like the other girls I've brought in. But, Greta barely glances at Ana. Her greedy little bug eyes remain glued on me.

"Will it be the usual, sir?" Oh fuck. She had to say that. Why?! Did she ever see me stroke another girl's shoulders before? Speaking of shoulders, I can feel Ana's tensing beneath my hands.

"No!" I say it so loud and intense Ana, Greta and several women heavily foiled under hairdryers shoot their eyes to me. "I mean, it's up to Ana. Whatever she says goes." I clear my throat for extra emphasis. "She's in charge." It killed me to say that, but it had to be done. Plus, it's the truth. She's so in charge she could be my black AMEX card. I wonder if she'd let me add her to the account...

Greta looks floored. It matches the wood she has for brains.

"Why are we here?" Ana hisses, pulling me from the counter.

"Because I own it."

"You own a beauty salon?"

"And three more like it."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

She rumples her nose. "Let me put it another way,... why?"

"Well, since you put it that way..." I laugh. She doesn't. "It's a sideline business. Investment of sorts. Anyway, you can have anything you want. Hair, mani/pedis, a wax." I look to her to gage her reaction to the word 'wax'.

"A wax?" She sneers.

"Or not." Fuck, why is going to the beauty salon so stressful? I thought women loved this shit. You'd think I was taking her to get voluntary root canals.

She approaches the counter. I approach her behind. Greta approaches us. With all this approaching going in, I feel like I'm in a showdown in Westside Story.

"I just want a haircut," she says to Greta.

Greta looks at her little book.

"I have Jorge."

"Not Jorge!" There's a reason his name begins with a 'whore'.

"Franco?"

"Franco is fine," I say. And wonderfully gay.

"He'll be available in five minutes."

"Good, I'll show Anastasia the rest of the salon in the meantime." I take Ana's hand. I'm about to sneak five minutes alone with her in the stone massage room for a quickie tounge tangle, when I'm struck with a proverbial whip.

"What is it?" Ana asks, as I'm halted in my tracks.

Or maybe not so proverbial... I say nothing. Do nothing. I just stare ahead, winded, as my past and my future are about to collide. Fuck. It's Elena. She's here.


	18. Chapter 18

_**I'm sure all of you are busy with 'Grey' this weekend, but here's a new post. I'm working on the Father's Day special, so keep your eyes peeled for that. As always, thank you so much for the reviews and follows! xox**_

The day before I left for Harvard, she collared me. She held me by a leather spiked leash as I cowered on all fours on her marble floor. It was the kind of floor that's so cold, your knees beg for the mercy of hellfire. And she liked it that way. I cried out as one of her stilettos pierced my shoulder. She didn't want me looking at those girls when I was away at school. The ones, she said, who were not like us. She made me repeat over and over again that I was hers. Then, she kissed me and told me that no matter how far away I was or how much time passed, that was how it would always be. Me, like I was, safe at the end of her choking hold. She whipped me repeatedly that night, the spikes piercing into my skin so I would remember the depth of her bite and the length of her reach. But, each thrash was welcomed. The strikes made me feel like someone cared enough about me not to leave me alone.

I kept my promise to her. I never looked at those girls. I never wanted to. Until I couldn't look away from Ana.

"Ana!" I feverishly call out as I chase after her down the bustling street, leaving Elena and the salon behind me as I try to keep up with the only thing I want in front of me.

"Go back to your Mrs. Robinson," she says loudly over one shoulder, both arms folded in front of her chest in a huff, as she picks up speed.

Some kid on a skate board laughs as he rolls past. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he hollers at me, "You in trouble!" Extra length and sing-song emphasis put on the 'trouble'. Thanks, fucker! Like I'm not aware of this fact already! Are you aware of your grammatical impotency?

"She's not mine. You are!" I say, doubling my paces, fighting my way through a herd of tourists wearing identical red Nebraska Cornhuskers shirts. Were they really that fearful of being separated from each other? Or do they want to be seen as one big educated Midwestern gang? I don't fucking care, just move!

"Don't be so sure." She takes off faster, darting with surprising ease and agility through the elements. Summer has spilled out onto the streets, which means so have the smaller members of our society. In droves. All these passing kids with their happy hands make me nervous. They could reach out and touch someone at any moment, and that someone could be me!

Fuck, how does she walk so fast? It's like she's got little jets in her heels fueled by enraged estrogen. At what point does this walk naturally evolve into a run? Fuck. I can't bear to see her run from me!

"Ana, come back!" I shout it like a command in the shallow belief she'll follow it. Of course, she doesn't and the degree of my idiocy increases.

Why couldn't I have just taken her to the Vidal Sassoon? Or even flown in some high touted stylist from New York or Paris on my plane? I have a plane! I don't need company freebies and forty percent discounts! Then, I wouldn't be chasing the raging bull that is Anastasia down this street where she could easily get run over by a truck, or take a bad fall or, I shudder, actually run so far and fast I can never catch her.

She passes a man in a lewdly open tropical shirt who whistles at her. She ignores him and keeps going. It takes all my self control not to rip off his Tommy Bahama and shove it down his whistle hole. But, then I'd lose sight of Ana, and no man dressed in pineapples and ukuleles is worth that. But, I do kick a discarded Pringles can at him as I pass.

She's so mad at me, her palms are probably twitching. I've never chased a girl with twitching palms before. I've never chased a girl at all, except to punish her. How odd that I'm chasing a girl who I know, if and when I catch her, is going to punish me. Why do I find an element of this so fucking exciting? Why does it always come back to your dick, Grey?!

"Ana, listen to me," I yell. "I didn't know Elena would be there."

She stops suddenly, halting me in my pursuit, and turns around to face me, slowly. Like a tigress about to strike those dumb antelope left wide open on an African savannah.

"Are you saying that if she wasn't there and you would've gotten away with it, that it would've been okay?" She crinkles her nose and squints her eyes. The universal female expression for 'you in trouble'.

I don't know what the fuck I'm saying anymore. Ever since I met Ana, English is a whole new language. And all my words can be held against me in a court of her law. I stand there, dumbfounded, repeating what I just heard in my mind, searching for traps and pitfalls that could lie in wait for me if I answer wrong.

If there is a man stupider than me in this very moment, I'd like to meet him. But, I probably can't, because of two things- one, he doesn't exist and two, soon I'll be dead. She'll have killed me and she has every right. It'll be self defense. Defense against my stupidity. Case closed.

If I could go back and erase the last hour, I would. Or better yet, tell the little demon trapped in my head that whispered it was a good idea, to go straight back to hell. But, as I know all too well, hard as you try, you can't erase the past, no matter how long or short the distance is behind you.

_The last hour..._

I remember an old cowboy movie I watched with Carrick when I was a kid. There was a showdown in a saloon between the good white hat wearing one and the bad black hat wearing one, and a hapless sheriff who tried to bring order to the town. But, the lawman was doomed from the get-go. Once the battling hats each took a shot of whiskey and blazed their eyes at each other, it was certain that only one would be left standing when the credits rolled. My story is no different, except today the saloon is the salon, the two gunslingers wear handbags instead of holsters, and I am that hapless sheriff.

She's right in front of us, and only one of us knows it. Thankfully, it's the sheriff. She's appropriately dressed in black, coming out from the back room. What the hell is she doing here? She never works on Saturdays.

"Christian, are you okay?" Ana asks, obliviously looking up at me with her clear blue eyes.

I'm starting to sweat. Like Pavlov's dog, the sight of her still brings that boy in me to heel. It's a feeling I always equated with love, or whatever form of it I thought I was capable of feeling or having someone feel toward me. But, now I know it's not. Because, I know what it feels like to love Ana and it's definitely not the same.

"Ana, excuse me while I talk to... a member of the old staff." She nods, unaware, as I walk toward the very woman she despises most in the world. Ana would rip my balls off right now if she knew it was her. And I like my balls, so I have to keep them apart. Not my balls, Ana and Elena. If I don't let them meet, all will be fine. So said the hapless sheriff before they shot him.

"Elena, what are you doing here?" I ask, my voice quiet and controlled as I approach. I don't want any of my words or actions to alert a watching Ana that there may be cause for alarm. I casually finger an industrial sized bottle of shampoo with a top pump, acting like I'm referencing it and my concern is purely product driven.

"Christian!" Elena looks up. Her eyes light as her hands clasp the sides of my arms, pulling me in to kiss both my cheeks. Her hair smells the same way it did in her playroom all those years ago. The scent of the spray so thick, you know it binds hard.

"Don't do that again." I pull back fast. Jesus, what the hell was that? Her lips came flying at me like a starved fish heading for a double worm baited hook.

"Don't do what?" Elena examines me as I wipe my cheek clean of her heavily glossed greeting with my hand.

"Touch me."

"What's wrong with you? You're so tense." She touches me again, squeezing the muscles of my shoulder lightly and I step back. This time I eye her with reprimand.

I look to Ana, who's watching the exchange from the front counter. Ever curious, I can see her piecing what's happening together in her mind. Fuck. I want to kick myself in the face right now, but I have a feeling I won't have to make the effort. Once Ana does the math, she will solve my problem and do it for me, multiplied tenfold. But, it won't be my face she's after. Elena looks to where my eyes are focused. She squints, her fake lashes weighing heavy on her precisely painted lids.

"Is that her?" Her eyeballs scan Ana up and down. A grocery store price check has nothing on Elena.

"Yes, leave her alone."

Elena, listening to me like she does, gives Ana a bright smile. It looks pleasant and friendly to the casual observer, but I've seen that smile before. It's the one she saves for her best attacks. The ones you never see coming.

Ana smiles slightly in return. Sweet, even. She doesn't seem upset. Good, at least she doesn't know who's smiling at her. The sheriff holds out hope, but puts on his bullet proof vest just in case.

"Stop it." My demanding tone surprises Elena and she shoots her flashing, overly bleached teeth back my way. They're so white, she could practically use them for headlights.

"Stop what?"

"Smiling at her."

"Oh Christian, this is ridiculous. She's right here. I want to meet her." She gestures over to her and I want to grab her hand to stop her, but I resist. It would cause a scene. And no one would believe I got so aggressive over bad shampoo.

"I told you she doesn't want that. I don't want you to upset her."

"Don't you think that's peculiar? That she'd be so upset by meeting me? I don't bite..." She raises a brow and smirks at me. "Well..." She laughs, like it's our own little private joke. Does she really expect me to find that funny? She's especially catty today. I don't like it.

"I can't blame Anastasia for not wanting to meet the woman who flogged and fucked her boyfriend all through his formative years." I still get a kick out of saying 'boyfriend'. I try to add it in as often as I can. It somehow legitimizes me.

The laughter dies.

"Oh yes..." She touches the shampoo bottle now. "Boyfriend..." She swivels the pump from side to side, still chewing on the word. At least her interest in the bottle adds credibility to my claims.

Her head shoots up fast. "Why have you told her all about us?" She actually has the audacity to look offended. Like I've betrayed her confidence on some fucked up level.

"I don't want any secrets with her and I don't want her mad at me because of you. I'm warning you Elena, don't fuck this up for me." I find myself falling into my former role as I'm on the verge of begging. But, if I have to for Ana, I will.

"Are you scared of her?" She scoffs, though there's a hint of jealousy laced in her tone. I've heard it before. When she warned me off of those girls who weren't like us.

"This is none of your business, Elena."

"Nonsense, I've met all of them. They loved me."

"She's not one of them. And you don't know what they thought, because they weren't allowed to think!" She's exasperating me today. I look away and briefly notice the abundant women's magazine collection scattered by the blow-dry station. It's like candy land for men like me. That's where I can secretly get my materials, I plot.

"Why did you bring her here, then?" Well isn't that the $5 million question. And I'm probably going to have pay Flynn at least that much to figure it out!

"She needs her hair done." I look to Ana, who's conversing with Greta at the front desk about something. Greta's pink lips are flapping on and on. Good, maybe Franco's ready for her. Or maybe she's unloading to Ana about her pathetic love life. Whatever, at least it's keeping her busy. I don't know why Ana needs Franco, anyway. She's so pretty. I get lost in her prettiness for a fractioned moment.

"Oh, for tonight!" Elena jolts me back. She's staring at Ana, too. But, I don't think it's because she's so pretty.

"What do you mean?"

"The charity ball. I'm sure you don't want her to look plain at such a fancy event. We'll get her straightened up."

"There's nothing plain about Anastasia. I told you, use her name!" I'm getting heated. I don't want Ana to see this. I touch the shampoo bottle again. "And you promised, you're not coming tonight."

"I remember. Anastasia doesn't want me there."

"That's right. So, don't get any ideas." I just want this evening to be special for Ana and me. Kind of like a coming out party. Not in the homosexual sense, more in the sixteen year old girl birthday party sense. None of that just came out right. At least it's just contained in my head and I didn't actually announce it for public consumption. What I'm trying to bottle, as I now clutch the hair wash bottle, is that I want tonight to be about her and me and I don't want old news thrown on new lawn.

"Doesn't Anastasia have respect for you?"

"Of course she does."

"Then why doesn't she want to meet the woman who made you the man you are today?" Trust me, she answered her own question.

"Because she thinks you made me do all the wrong things."

"What do you think?" I can't think. I don't know anymore. All I know is that I want Ana and I would do anything to keep her from running.

"Just leave her alone. She's good and sweet. And she really loves me." As I say it, a ball of emotion knots up in my throat, choking my words. I still can't believe it's true. That somebody loves me for me. That somebody as good as her could. Keep it together, Grey. Elena's the last person you want to see you crying.

"I'm worried about you, Christian." She sounds warm and motherly all of a sudden. It disturbs me. Sort of like when she used to kiss me after a particularly brutal strike or right before one.

"Why? I'm finally happy."

She shakes her head and purses her lips. Like she knows a painful, pitiful secret that she doesn't want to share, but has to for my own good.

"Young girls say a lot of things Christian." She touches my shoulder and I flinch. "But, eventually,..." She sighs. "They change their minds."

"What do you mean by that?" I feel like I can't breathe. Like she's knifed the air from my lungs. I fold my arms in front of me to feel a sense of protection over my chest and my heart. Maybe she's right. She always has been, hasn't she? Maybe Ana is too young. Maybe she'll change her mind when she knows what it really means to love a monster like me. When she knows everything...

"She seems lovely," her tone ticks upbeat as I despair. "I wish you luck, Christian. Just guard yourself. I don't want you to get hurt when..." She smiles softly. "Well, you know that whatever happens, I'll always be here."

And like that she walks off and disappears into the back room, leaving me to gather myself alone. Why does she unnerve me so these days? It never used to be like this. I could always trust her and count on her to help organize my thoughts and set me straight, but now I'm not so sure. And Ana has me thinking a lot about her. About what we did... I rub my face and run a hand through my hair. Fuck, I have to face Ana now. I cast the shampoo bottle aside. There's no way she's going to believe I had a conversation that long and heated about volume and shine.

"I'm sorry about that, Ana," I say, rushing back over to her at the front of the salon. "I just had to take care of an old mess..." Literally.

"Didn't you want to introduce me to Mrs. Lincoln?" she asks with alligator snap. Oh fuck. She knows! The real sheriff's in town. How the fuck does she know her last name? I've heard of a sixth sense, but this is beyond. Maybe she's been stalking me to find everything out about my life and everyone in it. No, that's me that does that. How else would she find this out? I look to the counter and the pink lipped gossip viper standing behind it. Fucking Greta!

"Ana,..." I turn back to her, trying to find some way to explain myself. Wait, she looks funny. And not funny haha. Funny like she might resort to knee to crotch violence.

"For a bright man, you are..." She clenches her fists and turns her head away, scrunching up her mouth like she's preparing to spit nails or some other form of sharp ended ammunition. Instead, it's worse... "I want go."

"Why?"

"Why?" she asks, her question mark lit on fire. "You really have to ask, why?" I guess I really shouldn't have asked why. After an exasperated exhale with some sort of guttural growl from the underworld, she takes off out the door. The little bell rings alerting that she's gone. And believe me, no angel got his wings from that ringing bell.

Oh my god, she's running! What do I do? Ana running. Ana running. The words flash in my mind like a shocking pink neon sign that buzzes with the force of its electrical current, shocking my already Ana frazzled brain. Fuck! Think, Grey! You have to do something!

First things first. I turn to Greta. "You're fired!" Then I take off after Ana, swinging the door open so hard and so fast that the little bell crashes down to the floor, alerting all the freshly foiled and coifed ladies that I'm a dead man walking.

_And now, back to the future, I'm standing. And she's waiting._

A street mime dances around us, dramatically woeful of his entrapment behind his imaginary wall of glass. I try to bide my time by swallowing and clearing my throat until something groundbreaking enters my brain that is worthy of escape from my lips. Nothing's happening. My mind wanders, as it tends to do. It's busy out. I never knew so many people congregated to open spaces to do nothing but meander on a Saturday. I didn't know miming was still a vocation. Was it ever really, or just a creepy rejected clown's past time? I thought everyone voted and the mimes lost.

"Well, you haven't answered me," she says arms folded, toe tapping, bringing me back to the here and the now. I'm still standing before her, like that mime, pathetically, annoyingly speechless.

"I'm sorry," is all I can muster up in my defense. It sounds like so little, but it's all that I have to offer.

The mime dances by us, mimicking my sad face with dramatic exaggeration, trying to get my attention. He holds out a gloved palm itchy for dollars. I want to hold up a palm twitchy for a smack down, but that would be too sexual coming from me, and I want nothing to do with thoughts of sexualizing a mime.

"You used to take them there, didn't you?" I know the 'they' she refers to as 'them'.

"Some of them, yes."

"Leila?"

I close my eyes, pained with thoughts of her. She's an example of what I do to women. God, where is she?

"Yes."

"It looks new." Wait, what is she inferencing in that clipped little 'new'? Does she really believe I've been fucking Leila recently? And why is the mime staring at me while he slides his thumbs up and down his suspenders? I think he's actually sexualizing me.

"It's been remodeled." My emphasis lands hard on the sentence ender.

"That's where you took them to wax their vaginas?" She says 'vaginas' in a half whisper, like she's a little embarrassed. It's rather cute.

"Yes,..." Where is she going with this? No good can come when talking to your girlfriend about an ex's waxed vagina.

"And you wanted me to wax my vagina there, too? With your people?"

"My people? Contrary to what you may think, I don't have a personal waxing staff."

"You know what I mean. You want my bits waxed just like them!"

"If you were so inclined." She doesn't sound inclined. Fuck, why is she so against waxing? Regular women do it every day! Not just contracted ones.

"So Mrs. Robinson, she met them?"

"Them, yes. Not their vaginas." I smirk, trying to lighten the mood, but much like the mime, my attempt at humor falls flat and pin drop silent. All this talk of vaginas makes the mime skedaddle. Good riddance! At least all the vaginas of my past are good for something.

"They knew about her?"

"No. Only you know."

"I'm not your sub."

"No, you most certainly are not." God, she's beautiful. Even when she's pissed at me, or especially when she is. I don't know. Maybe she's just beautiful all the time in different ways. Her own fifty shades of stunning. I just want to hold her in my arms right now. Forget all about salons and subs and make love to her. Not here in the street, well maybe... Bury myself inside of her and forget about the rest of the world. Hey, this is a revelation. When my girl is upset with me, my reaction is to hold, not hit. You really are turning into a teddy bear softy, Grey.

"Why would you do it? You know I don't like her. Why would you take me there? To hurt me?"

"No, never!"

"Then why?" Because I'm a fucking moron! It's been well established!

"Ana, when it comes to relationships I don't know my foot from my ass. I thought you'd be impressed."

"Impressed?"

I shrug. "I don't know. A stud like me could offer you endless beauty service options." She laughs. Even I have to laugh at myself on that one.

"She's very attractive." She stops laughing and cuts her eyes away. Please, she can't be jealous of Elena! Ana's stunning. Far more beautiful than Elena is or ever was. Why can't she see what I see?

"She is." I answer flatly. I can see her shoulders tensing. I want to put my fingers on her neck and rub all the tension from the morning away. Better yet, peel the clothing from her skin and run my mouth down the length of her spine, claiming her ass with my tongue. But, it's too soon. She might fight me away if I tried. Or we'd get arrested for public indecency. Although, both would be kind of hot.

"Is she still married?"

"Divorced." Memories of the bitter end of that one flash back. I was the root cause of her bruises and broken bones. That asshole still hasn't paid for what he did.

"Why aren't you with her?"

"Ana, she's ancient history. I don't want to be with her. I want to be with you." I move closer to her and tilt her chin up with my fingers, my eyes gazing into hers. "If that's what you want..."

She sighs. Not so mad anymore. "Right now, I just want a haircut at a salon where you have not fucked staff or clientele."

"So, you're not running?" I ask, hopeful.

"No." She shakes her head, brushing her bangs from her brow. My heart jumps multiple jacks in jubilation.

"Okay, I can get Franco to come to my apartment. He's really very good-" Fuck, my phone is vibrating in my pocket. It could be important. I pull it out quickly. It's Welch. Double fuck.

"Welch, what is it?" I hold a finger up to Ana, saying that I need a minute. I pace, arms folded, readying myself for the coming information.

"Her boyfriend," Welch says. He's always so staccato when he delivers news. "Dead in a car accident. Husband finally confessed after we gave him enough."

"Killed in a car accident," I say, horrified, into the phone. Anastasia perks to listen, registering my surprise. "That fucker was holding out on us, again. Doesn't he care at all about her? She was his wife!"

"He's through. Hands washed of her."

"Grief, that's what this is." I know the grief of losing someone you love all too well. Thankfully, I got a second chance. I look to Anastasia, my eyes softly landing on hers.

"I don't think that's all of it. The psychiatrist said she kept talking obsessively about a woman who won the prize, namely you. Saying she was going to have a meeting with her. I'm guessing that's why she went to see Miss Steele."

"The psychiatrist didn't think that was odd? He just released her onto the streets?"

"I'm not here to write a yelp review on the guy, but he sounds like he doesn't give a shit." "There's another thing." His voice lowers with alarming concern. "We found out that she was able to obtain a concealed weapons permit yesterday."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Ana jumps as I shout into the phone. "They didn't do a background check?"

"I know. But, we can't keep asking why, we need to be proactive. We need to up security on you and Miss Steele. And someone should be with her twenty-four seven."

"I will be." I'm never leaving her side. Not until this madness is over.

"Good, but she needs her own personal security, too. Is she compliant to this?" Saying Ana is compliant is like saying I'm an easy going, happy go-lucky guy. Fuck me. First the car debacle, then the salon, now this! It's like fight night and we're going all twelve rounds.

"I haven't broached it." I look to Ana, who watches me, completely innocent to the madness that is threatening us. Me loving her has dragged her into this and could bring her harm. I close my eyes tight, pained by the possibility.

"Mr. Grey, I'll have my team meet you at your apartment in an hour. We can plan further then."

"Okay, yes." I hang up, surveying the area around me with a hawk's watch and a hound dog's sniff. I need to be ready in an instant to protect my Ana. I will shield her with my life.

Ana looks at me, expectant for information. I have to be careful with my words. I don't want her taking off again, especially with a gun toting Leila out there.

"Are you going to tell me?" She asks, inching toward me as I pocket my phone.

"That was Welch."

"Who?"

"My security advisor."

"And?" And... Fuck, there are so many ands it could take till Christmas to list them all.

"Leila left her husband three months ago for another man. He was killed in a car accident four weeks ago."

"That's awful."

"Come," I hold out my hand and she takes it without argument. This seems to good to be true. "We can discuss everything at my place. I'll have Franco cut you're hair there. But, first we need to head to your place to pack your things." She suddenly pulls her hand away. I knew the good times couldn't last.

"So, you've decided all this, sir?" Oh, here we go! She always tries to jab me with those sarcastic 'sirs'. I'd throw some 'ma'ams' back at her, but she'd probably like that.

"Ana, you are in danger. Leila is out there. She could try and harm you at any time and I won't sit back and let that happen because of the women's liberation movement!"

"What? So, you're against the liberation of women? Why am I not surprised?"

"When it comes to your safety, yes. Leila's a perfect example. She was set free and now she's gone crazy."

"You are a misogynist."

"Only to the ones I really care about and in the best possible way." Honestly, how am I sexist? Half my workforce is tall blondes!

"I can't believe you! I-"

"Ana, this is not the time for speech and debate."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, you're going to be staying with me. No arguments allowed."

She laughs. "Who decided this?"

"Me, Welch and a bunch of highly qualified lawmen. It's the only way to keep you safe."

"Speech and debate? What about high school dramatics? And you, sir, are over acting." With the 'sirs' again!

"You think I'm overly dramatic?" I nearly hit a passing pedestrian with my flailing arms. "Leila has had a psychotic break, she's obsessed with me and with you. We don't know what she's capable of."

"But, she could've hurt me yesterday."

"Ana, I'm warning you. I'm all for the fun and games of you thinking on your own, but when it comes to your safety I will have no problem throwing you over my shoulder, dragging you back to Escala and spanking the shit out of you until you submit to good sense."

"You are not the boss of me!" Oh, fuck she's right!

"Ana, stop fighting me on this! Let's get your stuff and continue the discussion back at my place."

"You can't make me go with you."

"Baby, if I have to drag you down the avenue by the hair, I will."

She stands stone still, her feet firmly rooted to the cement of the sidewalk.

"You can take my hand and walk or I can carry you. Choose fast."

She folds her arms in defiance. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh baby, trust me, if you throw the gauntlet down, you and I both know I'll be all too happy to pick it up."

We glare at each other for a long moment. That's it! I swoop down and pick her up, throwing her over my shoulder like a caveman taking his bride.

"What are you doing?"

"If you're going to act like a petulant two year old, then I will act like a protective father." I take off hauling her ass, over my shoulder, down Second Avenue.

"Put me down!" She screams out. People stare as we pass. But, I don't fucking care what the people think. Although, I realize I probably only have a minute or two before either the authorities are alerted or the paparazzi starts snapping.

"I'm not putting you down unless you promise to walk beside me."

"Okay!"

"And don't try to pull a fast one on me!"

"Fine! Honestly, just put me down, Christian!"

I stop and slowly slide her down off my shoulder. I hold her, one hand on her back and one on her hair, as her feet touch the pavement. She's upset. I know I'm being harsh, but I can't bear any thought of harm coming to her. I need to show her what I'm feeling, the only way I know how. I surprise her with a kiss. She pulls back at first, but I hold her face to me, firmly. After a few seconds, her lips soften and part, allowing my tongue access to her mouth. She tastes so sweet. I know this isn't safe to be kissing her like this in public, but after everything, we both need this so much.

I finally pull back and rest my forehead against hers. "Let me take care of you."

She nods slowly and I kiss her hair before we pull apart.

"What haven't you told me about Leila?" she asks, her eyes soft as she looks up at me. "What really has you so worried?"

I exhale, and close my eyes. "She obtained a concealed weapons permit yesterday."

"She has a gun?"

"Most likely."

"She could've shot me yesterday."

"I know," I say, the pain of the realization weighs heavy in my tone.

"But, she didn't."

"But, she could. That's what scares the shit out of me. I don't want to take any risks where you're concerned." I stroke her face with my hand.

"What about you? I need you to be safe."

I pull her close and wrap her in my arms.

"Let's just get your stuff and get back to my place."

She nods into my neck. I pull away from her and hold out my hand. She takes it, much to my delight. And this time she doesn't let go.

But, I just can't shake the feeling we're being watched...


	19. Chapter 19

_**I'm finally back to this story! Thank you for reading and commenting on the other one! I'm happy everyone has been waiting for an update here. Glad you enjoy! Thank for being patient. Next chapter is lipstick...**_

My father once told Elliot and me "you'll know you've met the right girl when you find yourself in a chair at a department store waiting while she shops." I didn't understand what the hell he was talking about. For one thing, I would never have a girlfriend and I sure as hell would never sit and wait around for anyone. Never.

"Did you get my lipstick?" I whisper into my phone, sitting in a chair in the living room, waiting for Ana while she packs. This place is so small I don't know why they bother to separate it by rooms. No wonder the walls are so paper thin. Nothing else fits. I have to be extra careful to keep my words mum from a certain ma'am in the next room.

"Seven shades of red," Taylor says. It sounds like the title to one of those chick flick trilogies they're making these days. Only, I'm sure the leading man wouldn't be buying lip colors for himself or waiting for his girl to pack.

"Good. I'll want to see them when we get home. Don't leave them lying around unattended." I can just picture Welch nabbing them for that overly baubled wife of his. He's so fucking cheap.

"They're in my pockets."

"Why are they in there?"

"So I can give them to you discreetly."

"Well, take them out. I don't want lipstick that's spent all day in your pockets."

"How will I give them to you discreetly, then?"

"Believe me, there is nothing discreet about handing me seven lipsticks from your pockets." Jesus, why is this so difficult? "I don't want them melting, either. I need them firm. Keep them in your little refrigerator."

"Yes, sir. When shall we expect you? The security team is waiting."

"Well, tell them to keep waiting and do their work. I pay them enough."

"Should I give them lunch?"

"No. I don't want them all carbohydrate drunk when I get there. I need clear minds and focused energy. Give them nuts and black coffee. I'll be in touch." I end the call, realizing this may be the first time I've stopped people from eating. But, Welch is fat enough. I move to the bedroom to find out what the fuck is taking her so long.

"Ana, we have to go," I say, upon entering, eyeing the hands on my Rolex ticking forward as I watch her walking back and forth from her bathroom, carrying one item at a time and placing it in a vanity case that doesn't take its name seriously. At this rate we'll make it back by the Fourth of July. Maybe.

"I need soap." She goes back into her bathroom.

"I have soap," I call out. "Lots of it. Jasmine from the apothecary with various butters. Come on." I need to get her home and safe. Why is she fucking around and packing bars of Dove? This never happened with the submissives. I'd beat it out of them if they were dragging their heels or tried to bring their own soap. But, I don't have that option now, so I twiddle my thumbs, my toes, and anything else that has the inclination to twiddle.

"I'm still packing," she says, waving a paddle brush that looks like something I used to use in the red room.

"There's nothing in your suitcase!" I say, looking at the opened, empty, questionable baby blue leather thing with frosted plastic lining, splayed out like a Saturday night hooker with no bids on her bedspread. She doesn't answer. Another thing that I would normally punish, but instead I twiddle harder.

I watch her. She knows I'm watching. She's still pissed at me. I can tell by the way she flips her hair as she crosses the room. It's different than a flirty toss or a nervous twirl. It's the kind of flip that your middle finger would do if it grew from your head. Hair play, I've noticed, is a language all its own, and I'm becoming fluent.

"What's with that?" I ask, after she does it again.

"I don't know what Sir means." Sir! Jesus, Ana!

"Don't think I didn't see that thing you did with your hair."

"What thing?"

"That thing." I try to imitate, but I don't have the tresses for proper dramatic interpretation. I just end up swatting dead air and accidentally clip my eye.

"You mean this?" She does it again. If flipping off was a major, she'd graduate magna cum laude. As she does this her chest thrusts forward and her ass jerks back, and my twitching cock would rather have Ana come loudly than get honors at college.

"Yes!"

"I was just brushing it off my shoulder."

"That was not a brush. That was an act of war."

"I wouldn't have to brush anything off if you took me to a place to cut it where your ex whatever you call her didn't work and we didn't have to go on the run from your other ex whatever you call her." She flips the other side in revolt and reaches both hands into her drawers. Not the ones I'd prefer to be reaching into. The kind that house an entire wardrobe of sweatshirts and loose fitting jeans.

"Can I help you sort your denim situation out?" I ask, hoping to temper her temper and weed out the saggy bottom boys. She paces back and forth across the faux wood floor, crossing the strawberry rug, packing her collection of hoodies, crew necks and boyfriend jeans that better not have ever belonged to the real thing.

"I can manage all by myself," she says, with a tone that doesn't pertain to anything bought from The Gap.

"Oh no, you can't!" Is she trying to say that she doesn't need me? My heart drops into the pit of my stomach.

She ignores me! Another infraction! The twiddling intensifies as she kneels down and opens her bottom drawer, sticking her ass in the air as she digs through mostly neutral colored sweat sponging apparel. She wiggles her buns back and forth, up and down. I'm instantly hard. She's about to have a hot dog in those buns and a milkshake to wash it down if she keeps this up.

"I know what you're doing." I have to add ass play to the list of languages.

"Looking for something."

"Well, you're not going to find it with your ass." Or maybe she will. My cock twitches.

Ignoring me again, she pulls out pajama pants that were bought at a place that obviously believes in cotton substitute and ugly. That's what she was looking for? I have $3000 satin nightgowns at home that I want to take off of her and she picks this? The only reason I'd want to take that off of her is to protect my eyes and put the pjs out of their misery in my fireplace. Why would she wear pants with androgynous snow people on them who look happy, half drunk, or lobotomized, depending on if you're a glass half empty, half full, or all full of vodka kind of person. Are they holiday pants? Bah Humbug.

"Why are you looking at my snowmen like that?" She asks holding them up next to her much more impressive snow girls.

"Like what?"

"Like you hate them."

"Don't be ridiculous, I was just wondering what activity they're taking part in..." My eyes move to the girls. I know what activity I want them to take part in. The Titty Fuck Grand Prix. I want to drive my car right through those mountains and into that wide open tunnel.

"They're on vacation."

"The mountains?"

"What?"

"Huh?" What he fuck are you saying, Grey? But, how can she expect me to verbalize anything when I'm fucking her mouth in my mind.

"The snowmen. They're on a beach. Surfing." I thought those were sleds. I didn't notice the palm trees and Hawaiian shirts before. This gets weirder and weirder.

"Snowmen don't go to the beach."

"They do when they need to get away from a megalomaniac control freak." I get the feeling she's not talking about Santa.

"Ana, I don't want to fight over ugly pants. I need to keep you safe."

"So, it's true! You don't like my pants!"

"No, I prefer you not wearing any and the South Pole to be vacationing down under." I wink. She twists her mouth, trying not to laugh.

"Don't be cute, I'm mad at you." She thinks I'm cute. I swoon. Earlier hair flipping immediately forgiven.

"I'll do my best to be heinously offensive, Miss Steele." I flash a full toothed smile.

"What am I going to do with all that food you bought me?" Ana asks, pulling more sweatshirts out from her drawer and packing them in her little suitcase. Little is right. It looks like she's had that thing since it was to grandmother's house she would go. All of her stuff is so old. I make a mental note to call Louis Vuitton for their latest travel collection. Although, maybe I shouldn't. I don't want to give her the tools to go very far. A zippy new Audi and good luggage could be a dangerous combo for an un-contracted girl who's allowed to be mad at me.

"Frozen meat keeps," I say. Or rather, Taylor will give it to the homeless when you decide to stay with me forever and live in the house I bought you that you don't know about yet...

I watch as Ana wrestles with the balloon string tied to her headboard.

"Charlie Tango is coming with us?"

"Yes," she says, adorably possessive, as she breaks him free and puts him in her school girl backpack, along with her MacBook and iPad. She loves my helicopter. That does things to a man.

"Ethan is back on Tuesday," she says. Ethan? Who the fuck is Ethan and what the hell is he back from? Or more importantly what is he coming back to? And why does she know his travel itinerary? Did he give her the boyfriend jeans? Twiddling is not enough for me. I clench my fists.

"Who's Ethan?" I ask, gritting my teeth so I don't spit venom. No good comes of any man named Ethan. I better have Welch look into this person before I kill him.

"Kate's brother," she says like she's offended I don't remember him. Baby boy Kavanagh, of course. The one without the testicles in the family. I remember him pawing all over Ana at graduation. Him and his blonde surfer rapist curls.

"He's staying with you, here?" I can just picture the out of work fucker lounging around, making a teepee in his boxer shorts, watching late night cable sex movies and asking her to join him to pop some corn.

"Until he finds a place in Seattle. He's like family." Just like the photographer. She sure has a lot of kissing cousins.

"Good thing you'll be staying with me. He'll have room to wander." And masterbate. Alone.

"I don't think he has keys. I'll need to be back by then."

I choose to ignore what she just said. Over my dead body will she stay with that boy here! But, in her pissed at me state, I don't want her to consider that option. I just want to get her home.

"That's everything," she says. I grab her case, which is surprisingly light.

"This is it?"

"Yeah."

"You only packed sweatshirts, jeans and soap."

"And pajama pants."

"Shouldn't you pack everything you have?"

"You act like I'm not coming back here." She squints her eyes, trying to squeeze the master plan from my head. Fuck. She's onto me.

"Forget it. Let's go." I have a wardrobe at home for her, anyway. Better that she leaves all this shit behind.

We walk out to the back and I throw the suitcase in the rear of her Audi.

"Be careful with that!"

"Sweatshirts don't break." I shake my head, swinging around and opening the passenger side door for her.

"I thought I would be driving." Has she gone mad? Why would she think I'd let her drive her own car?

"Ana, please. Get inside." She does as she's told for once and I make quick to get into the driver's seat. At least I can have some control behind the wheel. I look over my shoulder, surveying the area. Just trash and that cat who likes to stare me down urinating on a half eaten slice of pepperoni in an open pizza box. No sign of Leila. Good. But, where he hell is she? I back out of the parking space and take off.

Pulling out into traffic, I decide to put on some music. I browse through the selections. Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, The Black Eyed Peas... No, I need something happy and sweet to calm the tension of the day and take the puss off the face beside me, in the hopes a different puss is on my face later.

"What's this?" she asks, as Billy Joel sings of music being left to write if she said goodbye to him tonight. My thoughts exactly.

"The Longest Time."

"What's it about?"

"A girl that makes a guy feel something he hasn't felt in a long time." I look over and smile and I'm delighted to see her smile back.

She leans her head into the rest and listens, and I wish it was on my shoulder. There's a comfortable silence between us as we both hear the words.

"Were all your submissive brunettes?" Ana asks, interrupting the line about needing each other. Fuck. What? That came out of the blue. Think about needing each other, not brown hair. Note to self, don't play 'Brown Eyed Girl' or 'Brown Sugar'. Ever.

"Yes," I answer honestly, warily. Where's she going with this?

"Just wondered." That was worryingly vague. She's thinking again. I'm not used to women who do this. That's when things get dangerous.

"Mrs. Robinson isn't a brunette," she says, like Nancy Drew who just hopscotched onto a clue. She can't say the name she coined for Elena without strangling the letters.

"No," I tease. She put me off of blondes for good."

She gasps with a force Gale would be envious of. "Are you serious?"

"No, I'm kidding." Geez, lighten up.

"Tell me about her," she commands. She has more in common with her than she thinks.

"What do you want to know, Ma'am?"

"Why Sir bought beauty salons for her?" Sir. I think she got the inference.

"I didn't buy them for her. I invested."

"Why?"

"Are you conducting another interview for that paper?" She crosses her arms and eyes me. "I don't know. That's all she's good at, spraying hair and shit." I was going to make a joke about her young boy seduction business going under, but wisely thought before I spoke.

"I'm sure that's not all it was."

"I owed it to her." Time to fess up. "She loaned me a hundred grand when I dropped out of Harvard to get my business started."

"You dropped out?" She looks at me, shocked. Is she disappointed? Does she think I'm a loser? Suddenly, I feel twenty again at my parent's kitchen table.

"It just wasn't for me. I hated it there. I had bigger ideas. My parents were furious when I left. She helped me out."

"Oh." That's all she says. Oh could mean oh so many things.

"What was your major?" An odd segue, but I'll go with it.

"Politics and economics."

"You'd be a good politician."

"You think?" She nods and I'm pleased. "I don't know. I hate a lot of people. And all that hand shaking and baby kissing..."

"You don't like babies?" It's more of a somber statement than a question.

"They're just not my thing." She sighs and looks out the window. Fuck, Miss Steele wants kids someday. But, how could I possibly be a father?

"You said that about girlfriends," she says, shooting her eyes back to me as if she found a kink in my armor. But, she found that a long time ago.

"Said what?"

"That having one wasn't your thing."

"You're right, I did." I look over and smile. She's so beautiful with sunlight dancing in her hair. I wish I could hire an artist to paint her just as she is now, in this moment. Burnished tresses, flushed cheeks and blue eyes that are watching me. For a fraction of a moment I can a see my future in them. "You have a habit of bringing out the firsts in me." I reach over and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and she blushes.

"She's rich?" Damn it, back to Elena. I'd rather she talk about kids.

"Yes. She was a bored trophy wife. Husband wouldn't let he work. Controlling man. Some guys are like that." I cock my head to the side and give her a mischievous grin.

"A controlling man? Surely a mythical creature." I wink, giving her a sideways look. "She loaned you her husband's money?"

"He got it back in the end." I remember seeing Elena in that hospital, broken and battered because of me. He took her into her playroom tied her up, and filmed the brutality. He told her he was just giving her what she liked and then he sent me the video, along with photos of Elena and I he found as blackmail.

"What's wrong!" Ana asks.

I shake my head, trying rid myself of these thoughts. "I don't want to talk about all this now. It's the past. I just want to get you home to protect you."

"It's not my home," she says, as Billy sings about maybe being sorry when she's gone... My home doesn't feel like home anymore without her. Maybe it never did.

Billy sings his final chords of consequences and being a fool and intending to hold this woman for the longest time. But, I notice he doesn't say the word love, even though that's all it's about.. Maybe he's scared by the words, too. It's all there, but he just can't say it.

"So, if he hasn't felt it in the longest time, does that mean he's felt it before he met her? And he could feel it again..." She knots her hands and sadly states down at her fingers.

"No. I think longest time means forever."

"I think so, too," she smiles, looking up with those eyes that see right through me, the only ones that could ever make me think about forever.

I pull into Escala. After looking around, I open her door and give her my hand to take.

"Come, Franco will be here shortly."

#######

"Are you still mad at me?" I ask, as we make our way up the elevator at Escala. I'm immediately hard being here, with her, in this sexually charged box climbing upward. She feels it, too. Her breath hitches. Those breasts look so good in her stretchy tee as her lungs fill. I really want to rip her shirt off, suck her nipples and fuck her senseless. But, she's mad. I'm not used to this being part of the equation.

"Yes." What the fuck do I say to that? Does she not want to talk about it or does she want me to ask what's wrong? And if I do ask her, will she bite my head off? Or she does want to fight with me so we'll have a hot makeup fuck? I'm so confused. I feel like I'm walking a tightrope with an alligator pit down bellow.

"Okay." Playing it safe, I deduce, may aid in the probability of sex sooner rather than later and prevent alligators from chomping off my balls.

The elevator doors open. Taylor's waiting there, expectantly.

Hello sir, Miss Steele."

She immediately lights up like the fucking Rockefeller Christmas tree and he smiles, looking like an elf who wants a go at my package. Ana, not my actual package.

"Hi Taylor, she says, sweetly." Why is she so damn sweet? Why don't I get sweet? I give her an Audi and I get attitude, but he says hi and she acts like it's poetry. My thoughts of sweetness or lack there of are temporarily sidelined as I smell the air. "Is that my leftover fussili with truffles I'm smelling?" The one I wanted to share with Ana for lunch? The one I had perfectly matched with a Sauvignon Blanc?

"Yes, sir," Taylor says, dipping his eyes.

"Did you eat my fussili?" If he was a cat there would be yellow feathers in his teeth.

"He asks you about eating, too?" Ana says, with a giggle. I'd be mad, but it's nice to hear.

"I'm sorry, they were hungry, sir."

"You fed _them_?" I gave him specific instructions.

"Welch has a nut allergy." Of course he does, when he found out truffles were available.

"Where is Welch?"

"In your office. I've given him coffee. Everything's been arranged."

"Good. How's your daughter?"

"Fine, thank you, Mr. Grey."

"You have a daughter?" Ana pipes in. Why is she so interested in the fruit of his loins? Is it because she wants to have kids and I don't? Is Taylor's fruit more appetizing than mine?

"Yes," he responds, smiling. I know he's with Gail, but Ana's the kind of woman who makes you break all the rules. I know from experience.

"How old is she?" Oh god, will this line of questioning ever end? I suddenly wish she'd start back in with Elena.

"She's seven," I interject. "We get along really well. The kid loves me." Maybe Ana will like it if she knows I actually like one child. I mean, we're not having tea parties or anything, but I say hello every time I see her, and give her a gift certificate to Neiman's on Christmas and her birthday.

"She lives with her mother," Taylor says, looking at me strangely.

"Oh, I see." What does she see exactly? Taylor's potential to sire offspring? I have to put an end to this madness.

"Are you hungry, Ana?"

"No." Of course not. I don't argue with her. We'll eat after her haircut.

"I have to take Taylor away and do some things. Make yourself at home." I lean over and kiss her head quickly, then move down the hallway toward my office to meet with Welch and the team. Taylor quickly follows behind, wisely.

#######

"Mr. De Luca is here to see Miss Steele," Taylor announces as I come out of my office at the finish of my security meeting. I stop and glare at him.

"Who the fuck is Mr. De Luca and what does he want with Ana?" Taylor looks at me oddly.

"To cut her hair."

"Oh right. Franco. Why didn't you say so?"

"I thought I did."

"Well, do it better next time."

"Very well. Should I get her, sir?"

"No, I will." I don't want to take any chances that Taylor may catch Ana in a state of undress or give them any time alone for this to happen.

She's not in the great room when I come out, but Franco is. He's drinking tea. One of Ana's Twining's bags. Taylor's just raiding my kitchen today and redistributing the wealth. I don't like other people touching Ana's teabags. They're special, for her, and only she and I and Mrs. Jones can touch them.

"Signore Grey," he leaps up from the sofa, his height only reaching my arm pits. I shake his hand quickly, not knowing whose follicles it's just been in, and back away.

"Good to see you, Franco." Although it will be better when you're done and I see you leave. "Please, sit." He makes me nervous when he stands. He's like a grasshopper that could jump me at any moment.

"How would you like her hair?" He asks, in an Italian accent that I think is put on. "Do you have your papers for me?" Oh fuck, he thinks she's my submissive. I've given him instructions before. Detailed instructions, written out, with photographic, almost pornagraphic, examples.

"However my girlfriend likes." I emphasize 'girlfriend'.

"What?" He looks like a dolphin just shot out of my ass.

"Whatever Anastasia wants."

"And you're not going to fire me if I do that?" He cocks his head. Oh yes, I almost did once. Bang-Gate 2009.

"No. Just use the shampoo I like."

"Which is that?"

"I don't know the name. The one that smells like you're walking through summer grass."

"You want her hair to smell like the grasses?"

"Not the grass. The flowers. A meadow." He looks confused. "The one that makes hair soft and costs a hundred dollars a bottle."

"Oh yes, I know!" He reaches for a dish of sugar cubes for his tea. Five! No wonder he's so peppy all the time. I hope he'll be able control his scissors.

"I'll go get her."

I leave him to his sugar while I search for mine.

She's not in the kitchen. I run to my bedroom. Franco waves as I pass him again, but I ignore him, giving him no time to jump. She's not in there either. I check each downstairs bathroom. Nothing! I panic. Then, I think to check upstairs. Funny, the last place I think to look is the submissive bedroom.

The door is cracked and light shoots through from the parted curtains of the picture window. I peek inside. Ana has her back to me, sitting on the bed, with a bra laid beside her on the duvet. My cock hardens immediately. Why is it out? Was she going to try it on and surprise me?

"There you are," I say, pushing the door open and standing just inside. "Why were you hiding out-"

She turns around and holds up a finger. She's on the phone. With who?

"I have to go. I'll call you later, Mom." She hangs up. Good, just Mom. At least it wasn't the photographer or the surfer rapist. But, she seems upset. What were they talking about? My gut ceases up.

"I'm not hiding." Oh good. "I'm despairing." Oh bad.

"Despairing?" Really bad. Was she calling her mother to ask for advice on how to leave me? Or did Carla advise her to do so? I can't catch my breath.

"Over all this..." She picks up the bra and waves her hand toward the closet and the things I bought her. Is that what this is about?

"Can I come in?"

"It's your closet." Why is she being like this? What girl doesn't want a closet full of designer clothes, shoes and matching handbags?

"Don't you like them? If you don't, I can send them back. I'll get you anything you want."

"You're a lot to take on..." She looks out the window, mindlessly fiddling with the $550 price tag on the bra.

"I know," I say. She doesn't even know the half of it. If she did, she would run. It's selfish to try and keep her here. She deserves better than someone like me. But, I'm not a good enough man to let her go. "I'm trying."

"Yes, I would say that's an accurate description." Her eyes cut back to me. "You are trying." Her mouth twists in a smile and I know she's teasing.

"As are you, Miss Steele." That light is hitting her hair again. It's like sunshine follows her wherever she goes.

"Why are you doing all this?"

"I'm you're boyfriend. Aren't I?" I hold my breath.

"Yes." Thank God, I'm still her boyfriend. Exhale.

"I want to give you nice things, Ana. I want you to have the best."

"But you bought these clothes when you wanted something else from me. They were supposed to be a uniform."

"You said that, not me."

"But, you agreed."

"Ana, regardless of all that, I have always wanted to give you nice things. As soon as I saw you in that cheap coat I wanted to buy you an entire wardrobe of silks and satins."

"What cheap coat?"

"That first day at my office. The one I helped you put on."

"My coat wasn't cheap."

"It wasn't nearly nice enough for you. I thought about ordering you a Burberry trench right on the spot."

"You were fantasizing about buying me a coat when you led me to the elevator?" She cocks her head.

"That, and taking it off to discover you were only wearing that..." I point to the bra in her hand. "So I could take you in that elevator."

She shakes her head, amused. "You know you could have a nice little brunette submissive wearing your gowns and garter belts asking "how high" every time you said "jump" to her. Why do you want me?"

"You're unexpected. Everything you do... You don't want me for my money. You give me hope for..."

"For what?"

"More." I shrug. "You're right, I could get any number of brunettes to do exactly as they're told. But, that gets old fast."

"So, you don't want me to do as I'm told?"

"Don't twist my words. I want you to be safe."

"Your rules?" She raises a brow.

"No, this isn't about my rules. This is about if anything happened to you... Because I..." Say the three little words, Grey. I. Love. You. But, they refuse to part my lips. She deserves better than my words. Love from me just isn't good enough.

"What?" She reaches over, catching me by surprise as she touches my hand. But the real surprise is that I don't flinch. Instead, my fingers, almost involuntarily, wrap around hers.

"There's something about you, Anastasia, which calls to me on some deep level I don't understand. It's a siren's call. I can't resist you, and I don't want to lose you." I kiss the back of her hand. "Don't run, please—have a little faith in me and a little patience. Please."

She watches me for a moment and I can't tell what she's thinking. She then pushes herself up to her knees on the bed and and takes my face in her hands. I'm not sure exactly what she's going to do. I never am, and something new inside of me loves that. She gently places her lips on mine and gives me a soft, sweet kiss.

"Faith and patience," she says, pulling back and looking at me, into me, with blue eyes that light my dark soul. And for a moment I feel warmth of sun replace the graveyard dead of night in a heart I never knew I had. "I can live with that."

"Good," I kiss the side of her head and lighten the mood. "Because Franco is here."

#######

"Belissima!" Franco says, standing up like a firework went off in his ass as we enter the room. I see he's finished his tea and all five sugars and started on another.

"Franco, this is Anastasia."

Ever her charming, sweet self she smiles and shakes his hand. He gives her a hug that would land a heterosexual man in the hospital.

"Calm down, Franco," I command. He backs off.

"Where will we be cutting?" He looks scissor happy, which concerns me. I hope the freedom I've given him doesn't go to his head, or rather the hair on hers.

"You'll do the trim in my bedroom." That didn't sound right. Thankfully he's gloriously gay and not interested in any trim other than tresses.

"Your bedroom?" His eyes open wide in surprise. For Christ's sake, she's not a submissive. She's been in my bedroom. I can't wait until she's in there again and I'm in her. Why can't he get that through his overly sugared, tea soaked brain?

"Yes." I take Ana's hand and we move to my bathroom, in my bedroom. I pull out a chair and place it in front of the mirror, motioning for Ana to sit.

"Thank you, Signore Grey!" He has that look like he wants to kiss me on both cheeks. I back away before he can and kiss Ana on hers instead.

"You okay?" I ask. She nods. "Well, I'll leave you two to it." I've never left a girl in charge of her own hair before. I'm nervous. What if she wants to look like Liza Minnelli?

"Don't worry, Signore. I'll have her smelling like the grasses in no time."

I nod and leave a confused looking Ana to the care of his scissors. May they tread lightly.

I make it back to the living room, sit in a chair and wait for Ana to get her hair done. My father was right. I shake my head and smile, thinking about nevers and forevers for the longest time.


	20. Chapter 20

**_Thank you for all your reviews on this and my other stories! I so appreciate them! I will continue to update all three. Next for this one is the lipstick scenes and the ball. There is a Baby Teddy one coming in the other one and I'm glad you enjoyed the Princess Phoebe story! More to come! Love you guys! xo_**

_Why did I build a library?_

I contemplate this as I wander inside the large and yet somewhat hidden room, trying to distract myself for the next hour while Ana gets her hair done. The security team has their assignments, Taylor is off doing whatever Taylor does that makes him Taylor, and I can't concentrate on tedious facts and figures for the deal with the Taiwanese when the length and style of Ana's tresses hang in the balance.

I know why I bought the pool table, I laugh to myself as I look over at it. And it wasn't for a random Saturday afternoon game with Elliot. I touch the baize as I pass. I've fucked many a submissive on this thing, yet oddly I can't recall any one experience clearly. They all blur into one generic sexual fantasy, the players and dates interchangeable. Or maybe I've just forgotten them all since Ana. Nothing is the same since I've known her. I eye the balls, the cues, the sticks... I so badly want to fuck her over this table, but not like the others. I want it to be something different. Something new for both of us. Something, in spite of her being naked and spread eagle over the table while I fuck her brains out, special.

I look up the tall cases that house these rare books of mine. They don't really feel like mine, except for the fact I bought them and control their existence on my shelves. But, I've recently learned that doesn't make a thing really belong to you, it only keeps it in its place.

Each of these works has a story on top of the story their pages have to tell. They're not rare because they're different, or more beautiful, or say something spectacular that's missed in a late edition paperback. They're rare because they've survived. They beat the odds of time, and trade, and wear and tear from hands touching their weathered parchment and turning their pages. Maybe no one ever really read them at all and they remained coldly in tact because they were left alone. And still, with their history, they go on, falling open with the same vulnerability they had when they were new, ready to tell their tales to anyone willing to go on the journey. I sigh. I'm not a good enough man to be an old book.

Maybe I built this room because that's what the rich do. They collect things like art and antiquities and first editions to give their money value. No, I don't give a fuck what rich people do, I am nothing like them, and I certainly don't need to put a value on money. Being a poor, starving child, I know its worth.

I touch one of the cherrywood shelves that were custom built from my own vision. I've spent countless hours researching and purchasing a collection to be envied by the British Library, the Library of Congress and the Smithsonian, yet I've rarely read a page. I didn't want to lessen their value. Maybe I am like those rich people after all, leaving a world of adventure and tragedy and humor and heart, both broken and not, up on high shelves with the noble, yet bull shit excuse of preservation. The quest to live to a ripe old age. Maybe... But, what thing ever really lived by simply growing older?

"_What is your thing, Miss Steele?" I asked her that day in Clayton's._

_"Books," she replied, smiling. And I caught myself smiling, too. Because she was._

Yes, Anastasia loves books. Me, I like them. I mean, I read in school as a distraction from life, and did well in literature at Harvard, but it's never been a passion of mine. Too many sharp words and unharnessed emotions flying around for me to be comfortable sitting for any length of time alone with them. And yet I built a reading corner with two overstuffed leather recliners to do just that. Two? Did I ever think I'd really sit in here with somebody and read?

I skim the lower shelves, running my hands across the spines of Steinbeck, Melville, and F. Scott Fitzgerald. I pick up The Great Gatsby and thumb through it.

_"...and for a moment I thought I loved her. But I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires."_

What a fool, I think, thinking mostly of myself and my own damn rules that sent her away before. My need for control. Why can't I tell her how I feel about her? Why can't I say those three little words? Who the fuck am I kidding? Those three words are dirty coming from my dark heart. My greatest fear is she'll see me for who I really am and run, and then, much like Gatsby, I'll be left alone watching that green light at the end of her dock from across the bay.

Enough story time, Grey. No wonder I don't spend much time in here. Reading is a perilous endeavor. I place Gatsby back on the shelf. I'll have my fill of the elite at that swank party tonight at my folks', anyway. No, we will. I smile. We... It'll be nice to have someone to walk in with, to dance with, to laugh with on the way home while recalling the high and low points of the affair. To make love with before falling asleep together in bed. Yes, nice. I smile, recalling that email Ana sent me. More than nice. Yes, more...

Something catches my eye that immediately offends me. I look up to see the replacements for the books I gave Ana back in the Tess allotted spots, eyeing me. I evil eye stare back. I know I told Andrea to get copies, but I hadn't seen them before and suddenly I hate them, if it's possible to hate bound pages with old words and still be a mostly sane human being. Mostly. I never claimed more than that.

I climb the ladder with urgent need, nearly falling off as I misstep and the wheels at the base shift. No harm done, except a few casualties from a low shelf are now splayed open in the aisle. I reach for the top shelf to pull the Tess books down. Imposters! I don't want two separate sets, I want one set and I want it to be Ana's. I'm going to sell these and leave those spots empty until Ana and her books come home to stay.

As I climb down and reach the bottom step of the ladder, it hits me. I didn't build a library for myself, I built it for Ana. Only, I didn't know it at the time. Like that baseball field in that movie. "Build it and they will come." I built all of this for Ana. I was just waiting for her. I guess on some level the heart I never thought I had always knew she was out there and she would come to me. My own "Field of Dreams"...

As I kneel down to pick up the books that were scattered, I see a compilation of the works of Hemingway open to an odd numbered page. I set the other novels down and pick it up. A quote catches my eye:

"_All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know."_

I pause, reflecting on those two sentences, then move to a corner table and grab a red felt tip pen from a holder. Under the quote, I write those three, no make that four little words- "Ana, I love you." Because without Ana, I love you is meaningless.

I close the book and place it back on the shelf, knowing I've completely destroyed its worth on the market, but also knowing Hemingway would be proud.

#######

"Just let me see the tip!" I say to Taylor as he holds the thing, standing in front of his bed. I look around and make sure his door is closed so no one, especially not Ana, will see what we're up to in here. "I need to get a better view."

"I'm trying to see it myself," Taylor says, his gorilla fingers getting in the way. He's got so much hair on his knuckles, I can't see the forest for the trees.

"Move your hand! You're covering it!"

"It's quite small," he squints. "You may need a magnifying glass."

"Stop shaking it! Just hold it up to my face so I can get a good look." He does, and just as I lean in, he nearly takes my eyes out with it. "Give it to me!" I yank it, forcefully.

"Careful, it's a limited edition." Yeah, limited edition my ass. That's just code word for no one's buying it, so say it's special and up the price. Fuck all this pussyfooting and eyeballing the tip, I rip Taylor's little package open to see the whole thing for myself.

"This isn't red!" I say, holding the open tube of Chanel lip rouge up. "It's fucking pink!"

"It's berry," he says, like that's a valid explanation.

"Which isn't red!" Is he fucking colorblind? Oh that's right he is...

"Marjorie says it's a popular form of red."

"Who the fuck is Marjorie?"

"Cosmetics professional at Neiman's." Professional, my ass. What professional can't tell berry from red?

"Do I look like a guy who cares about popularity?"

"No, sir."

"And I didn't ask for a form of red. I asked for the real thing. That's like the Taiwainese wanting to see me and me sending Elliot instead saying he's a form of Grey."

"Yes, sir." He gets it. The last thing the Taiwanese want to see is Elliot.

Honestly! I throw the berry shit on his bed.

"What else have you got in there?" I look inside his little freezer at the other tubes of lip color. I briefly wonder why his little freezer is so close to his bed, but I don't ask. As long as he doesn't ask why we're examining lipsticks.

"Maybe you'll like this one," he picks up a tube of some brand called Face Yourself. What the fuck? That's kind of judgmental for makeup. Why the hell would I want a lipstick telling me to deal with my shit? I already have Flynn for that. And Ana. Although, it may be appropriate for today's activity. "Red Dilemma," I read the name. What's the dilemma? Whether to wear it or not? I try to open the thing to see what's inside, but I can't get the lid off.

"What's wrong, sir?"

"It's frozen!" I examine it. "It's got miniature icicles around the rim. Did you get it wet?"

"Possibly in my pocket." I don't even want to know.

"Why are they in the freezer, anyway?"

"You told me to put them there."

"To firm them up for ten minutes, not to set up house for the winter."

"Should I put it back in my pocket?"

"No! Forget it. It looks like more berry shit, anyway." What happened to good old hooker red? Doesn't anyone buy it anymore? I know Elena still wears it, but she's probably stocked up in the 80s.

I look over the rest of the arctic psychological fuck-with-me titles. Sheer Oblivion, Sheer Apathy, Sheer Frosted Salmon. Salmon? How'd that one get thrown in? Oh, an Estée Lauder number. Old women love salmon, especially when it's frosted. Here's one for the old days- Sheer Dominance. Of course that one's pink, too. "They're all sheer!

"And?"

"I told you, hard harlot red. Opaque! Matte! Something that stains. I need it to last all night!"

"Marjorie told me that sheer looks better and it's easily reapplied." Who the hell is this Marjorie in cosmetics and why the fuck does she have so much power over Taylor's color selections?

"On lips, not on my body!" Fuck, I just let that one slip. "I mean when Ana kisses me I want to know where she did it... For awhile. No reapplication." Not a good save. Oh fuck it, Taylor's heard worse. "Just go back and buy me the thickest, darkest, reddest one you can find."

"Yes, sir."

"If you come back with more berry shit, we're going to have a problem."

He nods, accepting his duty and heads out. I follow. I don't want to be alone in Taylor's bedroom with frozen lipsticks or whatever else he has hiding in his little freezer.

#######

There's nothing like classical opera to get you in the mood to do business with the Taiwanese. I play a favorite piece to go over facts and figures in the great room, waiting these final moments for Ana to be done. But, even as the fat lady sings, the wait isn't over...

I look at my watch. It's been an hour and twelve minutes! What the hell? Franco said an hour. Tops! My mind starts to travel to places no passport holder wants a stamp. What could they be doing with those illicit twelve minutes? This is way beyond what is reasonable for Franco to "clean up the ends". Maybe he's really not gay and he wants to clean up her end with what's beginning to develop in his purple satin pants. Maybe it's all an act so he can be alone with her in my bedroom. Washing her hair. Accidentally spilling water on her tee shirt so he can accidentally fondle her tits when he wipes her off with his little towel. I'm about to burst into my bedroom, take the scissors from Franco's hand and accidentally stab his penis on purpose with them, when I hear his over the top Italian accent echoing from around the bend like a bad Olive Garden commercial.

"She's a ready for her a closeup!" Franco says, and I stand, turning to see my freshly coifed girl. I'm so nervous. What if it's- I gasp- short?

My eyes find her and I am spellbound.

"You look beautiful." It's not short. It's long and her mane oh so lovely as it cascades in layers over her shoulders and breasts like a waterfall I need to drink from.

"See, I knew he would a like!" Franco claps his hands and dances around her. He looks like he just hopped out of Aladdin's lamp in those pants and gold slipper things he's wearing. I think he thinks if he says 'a' after every few words people will believe he's really Italian. "Never let anyone else be a doing your hair, bellissima Ana!" He hugs her. Too long. But, he's gay. Still...

"Franco, aren't you twelve minutes late for your next appointment?" I ask, moving a few steps toward the foyer so he will follow, but the little fucker keeps fussing over her, fiddling with her ends and smoothing strays that don't look stray at all. They look like they belong to someone- Me! "Oh looky there," I looky there at my watch, pointing to the seconds ticking forward. "Thirteen minutes late now."

"Yeah, don't want the boss lady to crack a whip," Ana says, laughing. I give her a look.

"No, he wouldn't want that." I frown, but Ana snorts. Even her snorting is adorable. She's a comedian, this one. I have to admit, it was kind of funny.

"Let me get my purse," Ana says to Franco.

"Why?" Franco and I both ask in unison.

"To pay for the haircut."

"Ana, don't be ridiculous."

"Si bella, he's got all the money. Use him for it."

"Thanks, Franco." I glare.

"It's my hair, I can pay for it to be cut." With this again.

"It's already been paid for," I say. "I have a standing account."

"Really?" She raises her brow. Oh fuck. I had to mention that.

"Yes. I get my hair cut, too." Good save, Grey.

"I'l pay you back, then."

"Are you trying to emasculate me completely?"

"Because I want to pay for my haircut?"

"Yes!"

"Christian-"

"Ana, it's done!"

"Fine, I'll give the tip." She huffs defiantly as she moves over to her purse that's setting on the breakfast nook and pulls out a wallet that looks like she bought it in the third grade and dropped it on the raft ride at Wild Rivers and it never fully recovered. I'll have to get her a Prada one to carry the money I want to give her. That'll be a battle. She's the only woman on the planet who would fight with her man for giving her Prada and a black Amex.

"Thank you, Franco." She walks over and laboriously counts out the money, handing him $7 in ones and pocket change. "There should be fifty-seven cents there."

"Uh, gratzi." He smiles at her, then gives me a look that says you better fucking do better. I have to laugh. Sure, $7.57 would be a nice tip if the cut was $30 instead of $500.

"You should be leaving now, Franco." I lead him to the elevators.

"Ciao, Ana," he waves as I slyly hand him a folded bill. He looks at it disapprovingly. It's fifty bucks! There's already a built-in 20% tacked on to his $500 house call bill, plus the seven with the change. Just because I'm a billionaire, I have empty my pockets? I own his salon. Where's my employee discount?

"Thank you," I say, forcefully, pushing the bill toward him again, but he still doesn't take the cash, he just stares at it. The fucker's trying to hose me down!

"You know," he whispers, moving his beady little eyeballs from me to her. "She wanted it shorter and I be a talking her out of it. She wanted the bob. I tell her the bob is dead." I'm not sure I like how he emphasized dead. "I show her pictures of bobs gone wrong. And I a give her the shag look on the side like you go horny for. No bang bangs." The fact that he's so versed in what I go horny for is troubling.

"What are bang bangs?"

"The bangs that are shorter than the bangs." He demonstrates with his hand on his forehead the various degrees of bang factor- horrifying to more horrifying. At least he discouraged shorter. I still have nightmares about Dawn's supposed "Audrey Hepburn" bangs. Maybe that's why I tied her too tight when I suspended her. I couldn't concentrate on anything but that hair.

"Thank you, Franco." I give up, handing him another fifty as I push the button to call the elevator.

"Gratzi, Signore." He moves to kiss me on my cheeks, but I push him away and through the opening doors.

"Ciao!" The elevator swallows him up and thankfully he's gone. Finally, I can be alone with Ana's hair.

"I'm glad you kept it long," I say, walking back to Ana, taking a piece and twirling it between my fingers. Twirling really is a lost sport.

"Franco wanted to do it shorter, in a bob with bangs, but I'm glad I talked him out of it." That fucker just cheated me out of fifty bucks on top of fifty bucks on top of $7.57! I feel violated.

"So soft," I play with her hair, bouncing it up and down with my fingertips. Everything on Ana is so fun to bounce up and down. At least the fucker used the right shampoo. "Are you still mad at me?" I immediately regret asking her that. I was distracted by the bounce.

"Yes," she says so cutely I have to smile. Like a pouty little girl. I imagine taking my pouty little girl with her bouncy little hair over my knee, maybe in some ruffled panties, lace topped bobby socks and roller skates. I've always had a thing for roller skates. But, we're not playing those games now, so I must communicate without my twitching palm or roller skates.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask, fearing the affirmative answer and getting the affirmative nod. Jesus, haven't we spoken at length about this in five or seventy-five separate conversations? I never talked about anything with my subs or anyone before. Now, I've talked so much I could be the second coming of Oprah. Hell, I've already given her books and a car...

"How about we discuss it in bed..." I lean in and whisper into her ear, inhaling her sweet meadow scent. I have a sudden urge to roll around au naturel and find the splendor in her grass. Oh where are those roller skates?

"I'm not going to let you use your sexpertise to distract me." She pulls away, putting distance between my nose and her hair.

"Sexpertise?"

"Sexpertise."

"So, I'm a sexpert?"

"Yes. And?"

"Nothing." I grin, ridiculously delighted in the title she's bestowed on me. "Just clarifying..."

"Well, I would like to clarify a few things myself." Here it goes...

"How about over lunch, then? I'm starved." I move to her, whispering with lascivious intent into her ear, "I have a lovely baguette we can toast."

"You can toast your own baguette." She squirms away from me. "I'm not hungry." Of course not! When is she ever hungry? She eats a grape and acts like she's been on a food tour of Tuscany.

"Ana, what is it?"

"You want the list?"

"There's a list?" She nods. "Short one?"

"Long one."

"How long?"

"Long."

"You sure you don't want to talk about this in bed?" She shakes her head, not amused. "Okay, let me have it." I squint, hoping it'll lessen the proverbial blows.

"Item one..." she clears her throat. Shit, there're item numbers. Now I know what she did with the extra twelve minutes for the haircut. Made a lesson plan for our fight. "You drag me to that salon with your ex, where your other exes used to have their nubs and bits waxed under her tutelage..."

"Tutelage? You think she directed procedures?"

"It's her salon. No, it's both of yours," she glares. "Who knows what she did with your women."

"They're not my women!"

"They were."

"No, they weren't." I say in all earnestness and reach for her hand, holding it to me. "I may have thought so at the time, but I was wrong. You are mine."

"Franco told me he used to do some of your "friends". She removes her hand from mine to do the finger quotes. That fucker. I wonder if I can text Taylor and have him jump Franco to get that hundred and seven bucks and fifty-seven cents back.

"I can promise you he did none of them in my bedroom. Only you." I move in to her, she backs away. "Ana-"

"Item two..." Fuck. "You won't tell me anything. Your ex is stalking us with a gun. You carry me like a child through the streets-"

"That was three."

"What was three?"

"Three items in one."

"Be serious!"

"I am! I can only answer so many questions at once."

"Okay, start with the dragging me through the streets."

"Ana, it was for your own safety-"

"Worst of all you let her touch you!" That came out of nowhere.

"Who?"

"Who?!"

"Who?" Is there an owl in here?

"Your Mrs. Robinson, that's who."

"How many times do I have to say it? She is not my Mrs. Robinson." How did Elena come up again? She wasn't even part of the three part question. I thought we were sticking to item numbers. This relationship thing really has no rules!

"She can touch you."

"She knows where." Fuck, Taylor. Get back with my lipstick. I run both hands through my hair. "Ana, what we have is very different from anything I've ever known. We have no rules. I don't know when or where or how you're going to touch me. I have no control..." I reach out and stroke her face, ironically needing to touch her. "Your touch just means more. So much more."

"But, if it means more..." She steps forward and reaches out to me, her fingertips nearly brushing my chest. Fear, akin to someone strangling you in the dark, overtakes me and I immediately jolt back.

"No. Hard limit." Instinctively, I hold my hand out in front of me, so she can't get close. Protecting myself by pushing her away. But, in a clearer moment, I wonder how I'm protecting myself at all, when she's the only one who can truly save me.

"How would you feel if you couldn't touch me?" She looks crestfallen. I've hurt her. The last thing I wanted to do. Her question takes me by surprise and I need a moment.

"Devastated, deprived." It's true. I'm itching to touch her and hold her right now. She makes everything better. She's a balm to my wounds. And all she's asking is to hold me, so she can make everything better; so she can heal me. Ana watches me as I wrestle with my demons. Demons that, if she knew, would make her run.

"You'll have to tell me one day why it's a hard limit." Her eyes rest softly on me, giving me love that I'm too fucked up to give back in return.

"One day." I nod quickly and turn away. I feel the urge to run. She's watching me, and before she has the chance to really see me, I need to change the subject. "Anything more on the list?"

"You want to hear more of my list?"

"I always want you to be honest with me about what's bothering you."

She takes a step back and looks at me. I look away.

"How about your gross invasion of my privacy?" She taps her foot against the tile and I know she's serious.

"There is nothing gross about me invading your privacy." She marries the toe tapping with a cross of her arms. I try to lighten the mood. "In fact you liked it last night." I wink and she tries to fight a smile, but the twist of her lips betrays her seriousness.

"This is not funny!"

"I'm not the one smiling," I say, smiling at her.

"Neither am I!" She feigns outrage, but mostly to keep her lips from lifting up.

"I think you are." We're both smiling now. Two sunny idiots who can't take their eyes off of each other.

"You are insane." The clouds roll in. She's regained her pre-sun stance.

"Why, because I know your bank account number?"

"Yes, it's outrageous!"

"Ana, I do background checks on all my submissives. Here let me show you."

I take her hand and lead her into my office to a locked cabinet I promptly turn a little key to open. I pull out the file marked: ANASTASIA ROSE STEELE and hand it to her.

"You can keep it," I say as she flips it open and thumbs through the contents. I've got it committed to memory anyway. Plus, Welch has twelve copies in case of theft or fire, and it's on the computer.

"Gee, thanks. Everything I ever wanted to know about myself."

"Don't say I never gave you anything." She shoots me an eye dagger. Okay, not funny.

"So, you knew I worked at Clayton's?" She looks genuinely surprised. Please, she can't be that naive, can she?

"You never figured that out?"

"I thought you were shopping for a new do it yourself project."

"I was." She glares. "I'm kidding. Hopeless joke teller." I hold my hands up, pleading for mercy.

"So, it wasn't a coincidence, you being there?"

"Ana, knowing me as you do now, biblically and other," I raise a brow. "Do you really think I'd travel to Portland, just so happen to find a run down old mom and pop hardware store on the outskirts and do my own shopping for a fixer up project unless I was in lo-" I catch myself, before the word I can never take back slips far too naturally off my tongue. "In like of you from the moment you fell into my office?"

"In like of me?"

"In like of you." You're an idiot, Grey. But, stick with it.

She can't fight it. She smiles. "Well, I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted."

"Why would you be insulted?"

"Because you have fifteen other discarded files in there. I don't know how many shops you stuck your head into."

"Ana," I move closer to her and touch her face. "You are the only one I have ever stalked." I say with complete sincerity as I brush my hand along her cheek and she smiles.

"Another first?"

"Another first."

"This is so fucked up."

"I know. But, because of who I am and what I do- or what I used to do- I have to be careful."

"But, it's private."

"Anyone with half a mind could get that information if they wanted to." Half a mind like Welch, a small fortune and a security team with questionable ethics. "I don't misuse it." Mostly...

"But, you did! You put $24,000 in my account without my consent." Jesus Christ, who the fuck complains about money going into their account? I'd like to see the customer service statistics at Bank of America on that. I'll bet there's been one ever and it was her.

"That's the money Taylor got for that monstrosity you called a vehicle. Shocking, I know."

"Her name was Wanda."

"Who?"

"My car." Wanda. Who names a vehicle? Probably the photographer after his mother's mother's mother.

"Wanda, my apologies to the dearly departed."

"But, you gave me the Audi." Which is a helluva lot more than this Wanda outfit, but I'll shut my mouth.

"Ana, do have any idea how much money I make?"

"No, I don't have a little folder on you. I don't need to know your bottom line." I smirk and she catches herself. "I mean, the zeroes in your bank account."

"I know. That's one of the things I love about you." She blushes. Why is she blushing? Because I said I loved something about her. Oh Ana, I love so much more... "Ana, I make roughly one hundred thousand an hour." She tries to remain stone faced, but shock is etched in that stone. This is why I hate talking about money. People always look at you differently after they know. Although, I have to admit, Ana is the only girl I've met who outwardly wishes I was worth less. She'd be perfectly happy with us living in an cheap apartment, eating top ramen and making love on a futon. For some reason, I find that comforting.

"Like dollars?" She picks her jaw up off the floor and attempts to gather herself.

"Yes. Like dollars. Yen, euros... Pick your currency. I'm globally invested."

"What is your point?"

"My point is that the money, the Tess books, the car... They're nothing." I really am like Oprah.

"So they mean nothing? That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"No, it's like I said before, if your boyfriend worked at McDonald's, movie tickets would be like a car-"

"Why do you keep saying that? It's like I'd either have you as my boyfriend or a fast food manager?"

"I didn't say he was a manager," I point my finger, pointedly.

"You are exasperating."

"As are you, Miss Steele."

"How would you feel about all of this?" She gestures, waving her hand in the air, referencing the sense of grandiose about.

"I don't know." Because I really don't. No one has ever asked me before. It's always just how it's been. "How do you feel?" I ask, attempting to tread lightly.

"It makes me feel uncomfortable. Like you think you have to buy me things for me to love you."

"No, I don't believe that." And it's the truth. Because I don't believe anyone can ever truly love me. In the end, the money, even if it mattered to her, wouldn't be enough to make her stay.

"I want to give you the world, Anastasia." I've never wanted something so much. I gave presents to my subs because it pleased me to do so, but now I have this deep felt desire to please Ana. "Name it. Whatever you want."

"I just want you." I still. She wants me. Only me. But, she doesn't really know me.

"This is all part of who I am."

"I know." She sighs, then reaches out her hand to me, and not knowing what she's going to do or say next, I take it. "Shall we eat?"

"You're asking me that?" She nods. "That sounds like the best idea I've heard all day." I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss it.

"Shall I cook?"

"Please. Or there are cold cuts. I'll be out in a minute. I have a few calls to make."

"Mrs. Jones is off on weekends?"

"Yes."

"So all you eat are cold cuts?"

"No." Shit.

"Oh?"

"My submissives cook."

"Oh. Well, what does Sir want?" She curtsies, sarcastically, and it makes me laugh out loud.

"Whatever Madam can find," I give her a dark, sensuous look, but she doesn't get the reference. If she did, she wouldn't be worrying about ex subs, Elena, or anyone else's nubs and bits being waxed under her tutelage. She'd know, like I know, where the real power lies. And that terrifies me.

"Oh, and Christian-" she turns back around just before she reaches the door.

"Yes?"

"Thanks for the file. But, don't think I'm stupid enough to believe this is your only copy." She grins and waltzes out the door, her freshly coifed locks bouncing behind her. I have to smile. She's got you by the balls, Grey. But, what a nice pair of hands to hold them.

#######

I hear Beyoncé outside my office. She's calling to me, singing about the affliction Flynn formally diagnosed me with last week- Crazy in love.

As I exit, I smell bacon. Not just any old swine slabs. Fine Italian pancetta. I follow the crisped to perfection aroma and the singing to the kitchen and find her rump shaking to the song on my iPod- Ana, not Beyoncé.

This reminds me of that morning after. She swivels her hips and thrusts forward and back on the strong chords. It's intoxicating watching the gyrations. My cock agrees. She's a good kitchen dancer. I wonder what other kitchen activities she'd be good at. I've never been so thankful to the French for creating the omelet, the Italians for creating pancetta or Beyoncé for ass shaking beats. I can't just watch anymore, I need to join in on the fun, so I sneak up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist.

"Interesting choice of music," I whisper in her ear and nibble at her lobe. She squirms and giggles. "Your hair smells so good." I take a good whiff as I kiss the side of her head.

"I'm still mad at you."

"How long are you going to keep this up? Until we're old and gray on the front porch?"

She stops her cooking and looks at me, examining what I just said.

"You don't have a front porch." That's not what she's wondering.

"We will when we're old and gray." I think of our house and how her hair smells like our new meadow that she doesn't know about yet. When should I tell her? It's hard to find the right time to fit "I bought you a house" casually into the conversation, especially when we've only been back together two days, after only knowing each other a month.

"Are you planning for the future?" she asks, eyeballing me.

"Just joking around..." I divert my eyes from hers.

"You don't joke."

"You're right." She raises a brow, looking at me like I'm a puzzle that needs to be solved.

"There's a lot of time between now and old and gray, Mr. Grey."

"You're right. There is. And I don't want to waste it." I run my nose down her neck and kiss her shoulder. She really has the most glorious shoulders. She'd look heavenly in a strapless ball gown with a string of pearls around her neck and I'm not talking about the jewelry.

"Did you put this song in your iPod?" she asks, with an inflection that tells me it's not a casual question.

I stop devouring her shoulder and look up. "No." Fuck, where is she going with this?

"Do you think she was trying to tell you something?"

"In hindsight, yes." I don't care. Forget about Leila right now. Focus on Beyoncé and bacon and shoulders made for ball gowns and white pearl necklaces.

"Why'd you keep it on there?"

"I like the song." She cuts her eyes to me. "Do you want me to erase it?"

"No, I like it, too." She doesn't sound convincing. I better erase it tomorrow. I've read Cosmo.

"I want to hear something else." I say, moving to my iPod to look through my songs. I find the right one. Perfect. I press play and Nina Simone starts to belt out "I put a spell on you".

"What on earth?" Ana asks, as the whisk of the eggs in her bowl falls silent.

"Dance with me."

"I'm beating your eggs," she smirks.

"We have a no beating policy in this house now." I remove the bowl from her hands and place it on the counter, pulling her into my arms.

"Then how am I supposed to make you an omelet?"

"Charm." I brush my lips against her cheek.

"I'm supposed to charm the eggs into an omelet?"

"You could charm mountains to move, Miss Steele." I rest my cheek against hers and lead us in a dance, fully aware that she's done just that. "You did, you know?"

"I did what?" She tucks her head into my neck and I think she's sniffing my skin. She likes the way I smell, too. I smile.

"Put a spell on me." I pull back so I can see her face and run my finger along her jaw, catching her chin and tipping it up so our eyes meet. "You weave some powerful magic."

"Back at you, Mr. Grey."

I move my hands down her back to her ass...

"Don't do this," she says with no determination in her words.

"Do what?" I move her to the counter and her ass presses into the granite top.

"This." She's panting.

"Are you sure?" I lean into her, my breath on her skin. She's not protesting. "I want you so badly, Anastasia. I love and hate, and I love arguing with you. It's all very new to me. I need to know we're okay. This is the only way I know how..." I sweep her hair off her neck and she tilts her head, giving me access to move my mouth across her skin, but I don't.

"My feelings for you haven't changed," she pushes herself against me. She frustrated I've stopped.

"I'm not going to touch you until you say yes, but right now, after a really shitty morning, I just want to bury myself in you and forget everything but us."

"Us?"

"Us." That one word says everything.

"I'm going to touch your face," she says softly as she lifts her hand, asking me permission. I clench, but I nod and her hand slowly, lovingly strokes my cheek. I close my eyes, because it's almost too much. It's a touch I don't deserve.

Placing my hand on top of hers, I pull it from my face and hold it in mine. Our fingers intertwined and floating in the middle of us. Hers, a lifeboat tugging me to shore. I lean down, my mouth hovering over hers as she inches her lips forward.

"Yes or no, Anastasia?" Our lips nearly meeting.

"Yes." And my mouth is on hers, tasting, exploring. Our tongues intertwine. I need her so badly. I lift her so she's seated on the counter. Her fingers twist in my hair as I pull her toward me and bring her legs to wrap around my waist.

Can I fuck her here? No one is around... Yes, let's do this now.

"Excuse me, sir." Fucking. Taylor. I break the kiss.

"What is it?" I ask, icy, as her legs drop from around me. "We're cooking." Glad he didn't catch us a minute later when we'd really be firing up the wok.

"Can I have a word with you?" I nod, reluctantly removing my groin area from hers. I'm so fucking hard. Taylor can see. I know this, because he refuses to look anywhere below my forehead. This better not fucking be about lipstick!

"Rain check," I whisper to Ana and give her a quick kiss before following Taylor into my office.

"What the hell is it?" I adjust myself. Fuck, it's like I took Viagra or something. That's what Ana does to me. Think ice cold shower thoughts, Grey!

"Leila Williams may have been in the apartment." That did it. My dick shrivels.

"What? When?"

"There's a woman in a trench coat and hood seen entering the building last night on surveillance and leaving forty-five minutes later. No one here knows who she is."

"I wasn't here last night."

"Thankfully. We've done a sweep. She's not here now."

"Good." I suddenly remember waking in the middle of the night last week and wondering if someone was there. Was it her? A shiver runs up my spine. Thank God Ana sleeps with me now. I can protect her. Is that why Leila was here? Because Ana's with me now? I mean, really with me. How she wanted to be.

"Welch is worried about the ball tonight. Being seen in public with Miss Steele. It might upset Ms Williams, so he thinks maybe you should skip it."

"No, we're going!" Leila will not keep me from taking Ana. Not for our first real date. Not when I finally get to show her off to everyone in my life. Though I wonder if that's when we'd be the most in danger. "Ramp up security!"

"Yes, sir." I move to leave. "Oh, and the lipstick-"

"Yes?"

He whips out a tube from his pocket, of course, and hands it to me.

"Inner Demons," I read the case, then open it up to find the bloodiest red I could imagine. "This is perfect, Taylor."

He nods and I place it on my desk. I'll face my inner demons with Ana later. Now, it's time for pancetta and shoulder action.

#######

"Ready to eat?" I ask on approach as she moves the ingredients around in her little pan.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, genuinely concerned.

"Nothing for you to worry about." She wants to know more. Not now, Ana. I don't want to fill her mind with this shit.

She serves up our omelets and we sit next to each other at the breakfast bar to eat. I take a bite. Damn, she can cook.

"This is good." I take another forkfull and I'm pleased to see she's eating, too. Maybe she prefers to eat her own cooking. I know, I do. Hers that is, not mine. "Would you like a glass of wine?" She shakes her head. She wants to keep it clear for the continuing interrogation, I know. I move to the fridge to grab an open bottle and allot myself a hefty pour. I need a drink for this.

"Did all of your submissives cook well?"

"Well enough." She gives me an unsatisfied with my answer look. "Why?"

"I just want to know how the competition stacked up."

"You're not my submissive. So, guess what? You have won on all counts. Every competition. Culinary and other."

"What's other?" She's goading me.

"Charm."

"Did you cook for Mrs. Robinson?" She's laughing. This is the only time I've seen a smile on her face when it comes to Elena.

"No, that was a hard limit for both of us." We both laugh about that.

I switch on the iPod to a piece I like.

"It's lovely, what language is that?" she asks. The late afternoon light is hitting her hair from the open slats of the blinds and she looks stunning. Have I ever seen such blue eyes? No, I never have.

"Old French- Occitan in fact."

"Do you understand it?"

"Some, yes. My mother had a mantra: foreign language, musical instrument and martial art. Elliot speaks Spanish; Mia and I speak French. I play the piano; Elliot the guitar and Mia the cello."

"Martial art?"

"Elliot did Judo, but Mia put her foot down at twelve." She was such a feisty little thing. Reminds me of someone.

"What did you do?"

"Karate. But, not for long." My thoughts shift to those angry days. Too much physical contact and unharnessed aggression. They kicked me out.

"Oh." She doesn't ask any more and I'm thankful. "I wish my mother had been that organized."

"Dr. Grace is formidable when it comes to the accomplishments of her children."

"She must be very proud of you." I still as a dark, cold wave crashes over me. There's nothing to be proud of. Only money. Other than that, I'm a complete disappointment.

"Have you decided what to wear tonight?" I ask, in an effort to change the subject quickly. "Or do I need to pick something for you?"

"Um, not yet." She eyes me. It makes me uncomfortable. I know she's staring right through me. "Did you chose all those clothes?" She looks wary. What the hell is she seeing?

"No, Anastasia, I didn't. I gave a list and your size to a personal shopper at Neiman Marcus. They should fit." I gather out plates quickly and put them in the sink. "Just so that you know, I have ordered additional security for this evening and the next few days. With Leila unpredictable and unaccounted for somewhere on the streets of Seattle, I think it's a wise precaution. I don't want you going out unaccompanied. Okay?"

"Okay." No fight about it. Thank God.

"Good. I'm going to brief them. I shouldn't be long."

"They're here?"

"Yes."

I exit the room and head to my office, texting Taylor to assemble the team for the meeting. As I sit at my desk and wait, I see the tube of lipstick propped at the far corner and pick it up, examining my fate. Face Yourself, I laugh. Yes, I'm about to do just that. The container is shaped like a bullet and colored silver to match. Fitting. In a short time, the inner demons enclosed in this tube will challenge my own, marking the casualties in the color of blood and a new course will be charted, drawn by her hand.


	21. Chapter 21

**_Thank you again for all the reviews and follows! I appreciate it! Here's the Lipstick chapter. xo_**

I think Marvin Gaye is singing, but I can't be sure. It's muffled and set to an overpowering, futuristic drum beat. Either that or the recording was made in a time of war or completely underwater. Whatever the case, he wants to get it on and frankly, so do I. But, I'm distracted by letters flying at me that form the title of this endeavor- Take A Chance on Love: Episode 14.

"So you're going on a hot date, now what?" asks Chance, a little dipshit in a tight fitting tux jacket with rolled up sleeves, a pink bow tie and skinny jeans that might later inhibit procreation on his million hits YouTube video. The one I'm watching in preparation for tonight's ball and my first real date with Anastasia. My first real date ever. I haven't made a deal of it to Ana, but this night is a big to-do in my family and I'm saying more than she'll ever realize by bringing her. I'm terrified I won't do tonight right, so I figured I'd Google it. The search for "going to a ball with a girl who's not your submissive" yielded zero results, except for some hard core porn site that focused on the ball element of the question, so I figured I'd leave it to Chance. Literally.

"Number one rule," I sit on the edge of my desk chair waiting for Chance to impart his dating wisdom. Instead, the man of the hour, or rather the boy of the twenty-one minutes and sixteen seconds, holds up a little dry erase board with stick figure characters haphazardly drawn in a dating situation. Dating situation meaning there's a table, two chairs and a bottle of wine bigger than all three.

"Don't be a pussy," he says as he draws cat ears on what I assume is the stick man and then circles the entire head and crosses it out in one broad stripe. "Be confident, bro. Remember,..." He points his finger at me like Uncle Sam trying to get me to enlist. "You're never going to get any pussy if you are one." Words to live by. I sit back in my chair and rub my eyes, not believing what the fuck I'm doing watching this crap and that this little shit has more experience dating than me. What the fuck kind of advice is that, anyway? Who declares if you're a pussy or not? The pussy police? And what the hell does a kid named Chance have to tell me about getting any? I think his parents were trying to tell us all something when they named him- don't take a chance, wear a condom. Speaking of which, I better load up before tonight.

I forward through his pussy confidence talk, which goes on for an obscene amount of time and involves some sort of caped comic book action figures that I want to know nothing about. Next tip...

"Compliment what she's got on," he says, drawing globular appendages on the torso area of the stick woman that I think are tits, but are larger than the table, the two chairs and the bottle of wine put together. He then draws a cartoon bubble coming out of stick man's right pussy ear. "Don't just say "_you look hot_", use bigger, more important words like "_you look seriously phenomenal, my lady._" My lady? What is this, King Arthur's court meets cowabunga surfer dude? He proceeds to write all that in the bubble, spelling phenomenal with an 'f' and running out of room for the 'enal' and 'my lady', so he just squishes them all together along the perimeter and up the point of the ear, forming, appropriately, gibberish.

"Make her think you notice little things like her shoes and hair clips, not just her tits." What shoes and hair clips? All I see are massive balloon tits! She has no clothes, feet, or hair at all! What a guy. He makes me look like the king of hearts and flowers. Speaking of which...

"Bring her a gift," he says, drawing what I think is a bouquet of flowers in stick man's hands, but could be misconstrued as him holding his hairy dick and nut sack tied together with a bow. "Something small and personal like daisies you picked from your neighbor's garden. It shows you care, but not too much, and you're willing to take risks for love." It shows you're a thief and cheap and are on the verge of ending up in jail for stupidity. I bought Cartier diamonds, I think I'm good.

Fast forward... More pussy talk and action figures. This time they're battling it out. I'm somewhat curious, but not enough to stop and watch. I think this kid just likes to say pussy and play with his little batman.

"And don't make her think you're expecting sex at the end of the night." The end of the night? I'm expecting it halfway through! And unlike Chance, I've got the balls to make it happen. I open my top drawer and pull out my trusty velvet pouch with the silver balls and smile. Ana's like butter on a hot cross bun with these things inside her. I wonder if we'll even make it to the salad course.

"Lastly, make sure you're clean and you've groomed the man bush if you are planning end of night extracurricular activities..." He pulls out a detailed diagram on man grooming. "Groin deodorant is a good idea." I've had enough. I hit pause.

"I don't need to shave my balls, you fuck face! I need to go on a date!"

"Excuse me, sir?" Taylor asks, startling me as he peeks his head through the now parted door to my office. Why the fuck is he always popping up like that with no warning? Maybe it comes from his time at war. Sneak attack. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No!" I turn Chance off. I gave him one and he blew it, much like his premature load on his prom date's dress, I'm sure. No wonder he's wearing jeans with the rest of his tux ensemble, he had to change on the quick. "What is it?"

"Welch and the new security detail are here."

"Good. Send them in." I feel like I'm General Patton all of a sudden about to give wartime instruction to the new troops. It's a good feeling.

Taylor goes back outside and returns with the team. Two brutes who the evolutionary process forgot. Neither says a word, they just stare ahead, focused. I like them already. But, I do notice one is a little too good looking, in spite of his missing link status, to be watching over Ana. I'll pick the bigger Neanderthal with neck hair to do that duty. I'm sure he knows nothing about man grooming or groin deodorant.

"Mr. Grey," Welch says, standing in front of the group wearing his signature brown suit. I think he got married in that thing, only he was three sizes smaller. Speaking of which, I can smell my truffle sauce on his breath from here. Fucker.

"I do hope you had a nice lunch," I glare, the wound of Ana and my stolen fussili still fresh.

"Pasta. A bit oily. Did the job." He rubs the belly hanging over his belt. Damn right it's oily! That's white truffle oil, you fuck face.

"So, what's the plan for tonight?" I ask, shaking off truffle-gate and getting to the task at hand.

"Skip it."

"Skip what?"

"It."

"The plan?"

"The party." One thing about Welch, he may be cheap, morally questionable and have a wife a cabbage wouldn't claim as kin, but he doesn't waste words.

"I told you, that's not an option." I move out from behind my desk to face him. He's so much shorter than he sounds on the phone. I always forget that.

"In all due respect, Mr. Grey..." People always say that when they're about to disrespect the fuck out of you. "You're nuts."

"Excuse me?" I glare.

"It's a masked ball." He leans in, both thumbs in his belt loops. One is torn and his thumb immediately pops out, but he doesn't miss a beat. "Which means masks will be worn."

"Thank you for the in depth investigatory report, but I'm familiar with what goes on at the affair." I pay him for this shit?

"Which means," he clears his throat for dramatic effect and curls his lips in a prelude to speaking. He looks like a blowfish searching for a baited hook or maybe his wife's nether regions. The smell of rotting fish prevalent in both situations. "Any femme fatale with a fancy feather face piece can flounce through." Say that three times fast with a fish in your mouth.

"Well, that's what I pay you a small fortune to prevent..." I wave my hand demonstratively through the air. "Flouncing."

"You'll be much safer staying home."

"No, that's out of the question! This is a big night for me. I already have the lipstick and the earrings bought!" All eyes on me. I think I was a little too enthused about the lipstick. Oh, fuck them all! "Listen, I am not changing my plans with Miss Steele because of Leila Williams. So, you would all best be advised to get your balls lined up together and do your fucking jobs!

"Mr. Grey is right," Taylor says, surprisingly coming to my defense. "We're playing into Ms. William's hands if he changes plans."

"Thank you, Taylor." I grab my bullet shaped tube of 'inner demons' lipstick from the corner of the desk and head to the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready for the party."

#######

Grandpa Theo had an old treasure map he'd pull out when I was a kid and we'd spend late summers at his apple orchard. I wasn't particularly fond of summer. So many long days with nothing to do but think. I'd sit under the trees while Elliot played, trying to occupy my mind with anything but my own thoughts. My grandfather would often sit with me. I hardly spoke to him, but he spoke to me, and I'll always remember that. He told me it was part of his job to lean back against the bark and watch his apples to make sure God was growing them right. I didn't trust God to do anything right, but maybe he cared about the apples more than he cared about me. Even then, I knew why my grandfather was really there and it had nothing to do with God or apples.

"Where to, Calimazoo?" he'd ask. That was my adventurer name. He'd hold out the map he said he got from a real pirate to me and I'd point to a random spot marked with an X. Then, he'd proceed to tell me of all the adventures had and treasure found there by a copper haired boy who looked a lot like me and wasn't afraid of anything.

One day he told a particularly harrowing tale of a pirate who fled from a village he pillaged, and instead of escaping on his ship like he planned, walked ten miles from town to bury all that he had, including his own heart, in order to keep it safe and away from a fair maiden he feared would find it. Needless to say, both he and his heart died in this process amongst his vast treasure. Science and fairy tales will tell you a heart can't live on its own in a cold dark place. Neither can a man without one.

But, the puzzling part of the story was before he left, in a moment of weakness or of strength, depending on your viewpoint about such things, he drew for this fair maiden a map identifying the whereabouts of his buried treasure and hid it under her pillow as she slept. The maiden woke the next morning and immediately followed the lines and paths, feverishly searching until she found his mountain of treasures, but it was too late. And although riches surrounded her free for the taking, she only left with his heart, saying there was nothing more she wanted from him. Others asked her why she only took a cold heart that had no more power to beat, to which she replied simply, "It still beats for me."

I thought this was the stupidest story I had ever heard. Who wants a hunk of old, cold heart when you could have treasure? And why would the head pirate of his ship skip out on his planned escape and kill himself to hide it, only to give it to her in the end?

"Why'd he do all that?" I asked, kicking a small stone and watching it tumble down the hill. Elliot was at the bottom chasing squirrels. He never knew what hit him. He usually never did. "Why didn't he just run away from her and keep his heart all to himself?" That was something, even at my tender age, I knew all too well.

"He tried to run away, but he just couldn't," my grandfather replied. There was a meaning tucked into his tone I couldn't decipher at nine and am just beginning to understand at nearly twenty-eight.

I looked at him, crinkling my nose. "But, you don't draw a map for someone if you don't really want them to find what's buried."

"You're right," he said. "You don't." And he didn't say any more.

I had forgotten about that story, until today. And as I clasp the lipstick in my shaking palm, I feel for that pirate. He tried to run away, but he just couldn't. The lines of the map had already been drawn and he had already given away his heart.

#######

The door is cracked and I can see a light on in the submissive bedroom. Ana must be inside. Why does she keep coming up here to hang out? Maybe she's picking out her clothes for tonight. Or maybe she just wants to get away from me. I pause for a moment, take a deep breath and gather myself, adjusting the obtrusive tubular contraption in my pocket. Who knew lipstick could weigh so heavy on a man.

"Can I come in?" I ask, peeking through the parted door. She's sprawled out on the bed, eyes fixed on the screen of her laptop. Her chestnut hair falls onto her shoulders in layered waves as her crossed calves and lilac painted toes point heavenward. She's adorable. I've walked in on many a woman lying on that bed, much like she is now. As soon as they heard the hinges creek they would hop up, fall to their knees, and wait for my commands. Never once have I asked permission to come in before Ana. And it's not lost on me that I'm about to bare myself to her in here as well.

"It's not my room," she says, her blue eyes peeking up through her mahogany fanned lashes. I'm not sure if she's still mad at me. I'm never quite sure of anything around her and I've recently discovered that I like that.

"You're right, it's not." Fifteen ghosts dance in here. And although none are actually dead, they still haunt. It isn't right Ana lay on that bed. She isn't the sixteenth, she's the one.

For a moment I envision her lying on our bed at the new house, watching a marigold and magenta sunset as she reads an old book- maybe a first edition from the library I built for her. I would just sit and watch her as she watched the painted sky. That would be everything. To see the sunset through her eyes is far more beautiful than seeing the sunset itself.

"Penny for your thoughts," she says, calling me back from my daydream.

"It'll take more than a penny to buy my thoughts."

"Oh that's right, you're far too wealthy to be tempted by a mere penny," she teases.

"Oh, I don't know. Rare one, maybe." I smile, looking at the rarest of them all. She blushes, tucking some hair behind her ear.

"What are you doing? I ask as I walk inside, kick off my shoes and sprawl out on the bed beside her. What an odd day it is to be lounging on the submissive bed with my girlfriend, preparing for a tube of lipstick to be used by her hand on my trunk. And not the trunk I'd like her hand to be working on. If you'd have told me a month ago this would be the scene, I'd have sent you to Flynn. I'm wondering if I shouldn't run over there right now, myself.

"Researching," she says, studiously. I can imagine tortoise shell frames perched on the bridge of her nose just atop that tiny freckle above the tip. I bet she'd look cute in glasses with her little pig tails and a pleated catholic school girl skirt with crotchless panties and those socks that climb up her thighs... Fuck, I'm getting hard. Focus, Grey!

"Is something wrong?" she asks as I reposition my troops, trying to shake off thoughts of peeling those socks down her legs and running my tongue over the elastic marks left on her skin in their wake.

"Hard bed." Or something is anyway. I adjust.

I lean over and take a gander at her computer screen, my chin resting on her shoulder as our heads touch. I resist the urge to nuzzle her neck, but it's impossible. Like all things with Ana, I have no control over it. The desire to put nose to nape proves too strong.

"Why is a frog walking across a tight rope towards New York City?" I ask, looking at the watercolor picture on the screen in front of me. There's an article attached with the title- "The Several Yous I Am." Several? I only see one frog and the you he is looks like the flies he just ate survived the swallow and are forming a mutiny in his belly that he's about to hurl. What the fuck is this shit?

"That's not a frog, it's an artistic representation of a sad, confused man trying to get to the other side." Let me rephrase my earlier question- What the fuck is this shit?

"Of course he's sad and confused, he looks like a frog."

"Christian!"

"And nothing will change when he gets to Manhattan, trust me. I have a place there." She rolls her eyes and I bite my own lip to prevent myself from remarking on it.

I eye the page closer. She's looking at a site specializing in multiple personality disorders. She's halfway through the diagnosis quiz and from the looks of the yeses marked off, I'm losing. Or rather, one of the several of me is. Maybe the sad, confused frog part who wants to see the city. I have to laugh. "On this site for a reason, Miss Steele?"

"I know someone with several."

"Personalities or frogs?" I reach over and touch her foot with mine.

"A frog with at least fifty." She play kicks me back. What a delight it is to be kicked back. I never knew.

"He must keep you on your toes." I tickle hers with mine. I've played footsie twice with her today. I feel like a seasoned pro.

"My toes, my fingers, and every other part of my body." Whoa. Straight to my groin.

"Lucky fifty." I reach out and touch her lip with my finger, she playfully bites the tip. Naughty girl. My cock twitches. What were we talking about again? Frogs?

"It's a pet project of mine." My cock? Oh right, my mental health. I can't concentrate around this woman. She shifts onto her side so she's facing me, propped on one elbow. Her hair spilling over her breasts and onto the bed. I wish I was spilling onto her breasts. Grey!

"I'm a pet project?" I mirror her pose, but not so gloriously. "And here I thought I was everything. You wound me, Miss Steele."

"Who said it was you?" She smirks. She's such a little smirker. She should be nicknamed the smirktress.

"Just a wild guess."

"It's true. You are the only fucked up, mercurial control freak I know intimately."

"I thought I was the only one you know intimately." I raise my brow. I better fucking be.

"Yes, that, too." She giggles and I reach over and tuck the stray lock that keeps falling out of place behind her ear. Even her hair doesn't do as it's told.

"Have you reached any conclusions?"

"You're in need of intense therapy."

"No. I'm in need of you." I lean in and kiss her softly, taking her by surprise. She moves to deepen the kiss, but I pull back. We can't have sex yet. There is a task at hand and chest and back that needs to be accomplished. Now, how do I say this without sounding weird... "Reach into my pocket, I have something for you."

"No foreplay, I see," she raises a brow so high it almost escapes her newly coifed head.

"It's not what you think." I lay on my back and push my right hip to her. "Pull out the bullet and put it between your writing fingers."

"That's exactly what I thought." There's that smirk again. Ever curious, she reaches deep into my pocket, pulls the tube out and examines it, surprised by what she finds. "Lipstick?"

"Lipstick."

"For me?"

"No, for me," I say with the utmost sincerity. She's looking at me like I'm a kinkier son of a bitch than she thought.

"Do you want me to wear this for you?" She's hoping that's the case.

"Not unless you want to." I smile as she furrows her brow. "Though, I'm not really sure it's your color. It goes better with my eyes."

"You want me to put this on you?" she asks, gaping. I have her completely confused. It's kind of fun teasing her like this, but I really should put her out of her misery and get on with it.

"Yes." I sit up quickly on the bed, cross legged, and like a band-aid that needs to be ripped off, I drag my shirt over my head. My eyes meet hers and I pause, aware there's no going back now and also aware I don't want to. "I like your road map idea." My chest is bare to her and even though I am exposed and terrified, I don't move. "The no go areas. I thought we could draw the guidelines. Together." The weight of that word hanging heavy between us.

"You don't have to do this," she says, softly. "I was kidding."

"I'm not," I say, gazing at her with all sincerity. Sitting here, I have a similar feeling to when Elena first stripped me at fifteen, though, she had no mercy. That feeling of being completely naked and helpless, I remember. I shook and she watched me shake. I never let anyone stare at my scars before. But, Elena didn't flinch. She had no pity for me. She didn't care at all what I had suffered. And something about that made me feel safe. I could feel nothing when I was with her. Nothing, but the bite of a cane. But, I'm not preparing for a beating today. I'm preparing for so much more and that's what is truly terrifying.

"You want me to draw on you with lipstick?" she asks, emotion beginning to well in her eyes. It isn't pity exactly, it's something more.

I nod. "It washes off. Eventually. And besides, no one is looking at my body, but you." Being in this room reminds me of all the women who have seen my body naked, yet none of them have ever seen me bare like this. Only Ana. A wave of some unknown emotion washes over me and I'm left with the feeling that I don't want anyone else but her to ever look at my body again.

"Should we do something more permanent, like a sharpie?"

"I could get a tattoo."

"No, not on your beautiful skin!" She thinks my skin is beautiful? That's the first time anyone's said that. Especially with my hideous scars.

"Lipstick, then."

"Lipstick."

She shuts down the Mac and I hold my hands out to her.

"Come. Sit on me."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"No, believe me, I've only ever said this to one." I pull her over and wriggle to lay on my back, knees bent. "Sit in my lap and lean against my legs." She does so, and quickly. "You seem—enthusiastic for this."

"How can you tell?"

"You're doing as you're told."

"I'm always eager for information, Mr. Grey, and it means you'll relax, because I'll know where the boundaries lie."

I shake my head. Fuck this is really it.

"Open the lipstick," I order, trying to harness some precious control. She pops off the cap and throws it on the duvet. It rolls to the edge and you think it's barely going stay on the bed, but then, no longer able to hold on, it falls in silence onto the carpet. Much like my precious control.

Ana's watching me, waiting for more instruction. She's like a little soldier. Maybe I should let her draw on me more often.

"Give me your hand." She gives me her free one. "The one with the lipstick." I roll my eyes in a purposefully exaggerated fashion.

"Are you rolling your eyes at me?" She feigns shock.

"Yep," I tease.

"That's very rude, Mr. Grey. I know some people who get positively violent over eye rolling."

"I know that guy. I think he left town. But, he could be called back on an emergency at any time."

"An eye rolling emergency?"

"Only for the most hardened ocular upturn offenders." She slaps the lipstick in my hand. "Hey, watch it." She's smirking. Again. Lucky for her we no longer live by any rules. I move to sit up quickly, so we're nose to nose. I so want to kiss her and then fuck her, but right now it's all about the body art.

"Ready?" I ask, my tone giving away my lascivious thoughts.

"Yes," she whispers and I can tell she's having those same thoughts. But, I must bury them now. I take her and gently guide the tip of her lipstick it to my outer shoulder.

"Press down," I breathe, and she does, gently at first. I can tell she's hesitant. "It's okay. I need you to do this." She nods and firms it onto my skin. I direct her hand down, from the top of my shoulder, around my arm socket, then down the side of my chest. The lipstick feels surprisingly nice, under the circumstances. Sort of a mix between butter, wax and a perfumed lotion melting onto my flesh. I look down and see the deep scarlet lines she's making. Yes, this was the right color. I'm stained and may be for life. Only, I'm left feeling a bit like Hester Prynne with her scarlet letter. The evidence of who I've been marked in red for Ana to see.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice soft and shaky.

"Just keep going," I grit my teeth in response. She goes slow, watching the tension vein and red my face. I stop her at the bottom of my rib cage, before she goes too far, and then direct her across my stomach, holding her fingers as she draws a smooth even line. My muscles clench when she touches just below his favorite spot to kick me in. The fleshy part that had no bones to lessen the crush or that he'd need to fix. I can feel her adjust her stroke over the rippling of my belly, like she's reading my pain and adjusting for it. I breathe, although it's difficult. I'm taken back to so many moments I was at a loss for air and food and my mother. I don't want to go to that place now. I try to stay focused on the cool blue of Ana's eyes as they wash over me and give me sanctuary.

"And up the other side." My eyes hold hers for a moment, her hand stilled in mine. She's been careful and gentle and I wish I could just tell her to throw the damn lipstick down and touch me where she wants, how she wants. And we could really make love. I do wish I could ask her to love me, but I can't ask for something I don't deserve.

I look down to her fingertips that are holding the lipstick with such care. Her innocence and her faith in me is overwhelming. If I can't tell her that I love her, maybe I can show her.

"I think you can handle it from here." I slowly release her hand. Her fingers and the lipstick hang in the air, free to do their will.

"On my own?" she asks, unsure. I place my hands beside me with palms down on the bed, take a deep breath and nod.

She mirrors the line she drew on my left side with the precision of a surgeon or an angel. She's trying to avoid it, but I know she's looking at my scars. I shift to give her eyes another landing. I don't want her pity. Ever. But, as I watch her more closely, I don't think that's what I'm seeing. It's like what I saw before. It's sadness, but anger, too. Not at me, but for me. She ever so slightly purses her lips and furrows her brow. She wants to take the fucker who did this to me down. My little Ana. And I find myself forgetting about everything for a moment and smiling.

"There, done," she whispers, her voice shaking. She's trying to contain her emotions for my sake. I love her.

"No, you're not," I say, tracing a line with my index finger around the base of my neck. She follows the line of my finger with a scarlet streak. Finishing, she gazes at me.

"Now my back," I murmur. I shift so she moves from my lap and I sit cross-legged with my back to her as she climbs around behind me.

"Follow the line from my chest, all the way around to the other side." I clench as I prepare for her to do this. It's much worse not being able to see what's happening. But, I need to trust her.

She's precise with her markings and doesn't veer off course. When she pauses for a fraction of moment I know she's looking at them again. There's a hideous one on my shoulder blade that I'm grateful I can't see easily. But, I know she sees it.

"Around your neck, too?" she whispers and I nod. She draws a line at the base of my neck, just under the line of my hair and stops.

"Finished," she murmurs, setting the lipstick down beside me like a loaded gun, so I can see it won't do me harm. I take a deep breath and my shoulders fall. Relief blankets me. We really did this. I never knew I could.

"Those are the boundaries," I say, sounding more mouse than man. She crawls around in front of me and mirrors the cross of my legs with her own. And we just sit, watching each other, for minutes, maybe more.

"How do I look, Miss Steele?" I ask, teasing her and covering my lack of ease.

"You were right. That shade is divine with your eyes." She smiles.

She won't take her eyes off me. Does she feel sorry for me? Is she ashamed to be with me? God, maybe she's changing her mind now that she's seen all of it and she's going to leave. I take a sharp breath. Suddenly I'm embarrassed and I want to hide. What does a woman like her want with a man wearing a lipstick vest?

"I can live with those lines," she says softly, finally breaking the silence. "But, right now..." She swallows. Oh shit, what's she going to say? Panic ceases up my chest and I hold my breath to prepare for the blow. "I really want to fuck you. Hard."

I exhale. Those words. My chest drops as my cock jumps.

"Well, Miss Steele," I say with a wicked grin and groan. "I'm all yours." I hold up my hands in a gesture of, ironically, submission.

She throws herself into my arms, squealing as we fall back into the pillows. She got me pinned flat on my back and I laugh. There's joy and relief and love twisted up in the sounds. I hope she hears all the notes.

"I'm a lucky frog," I say, watching her watch me.

"You know frogs become princes," she says, gazing down at me as her meadow scented hair falls down and over me, tickling my face.

"Oh yeah, how does that happen again?"

She leans over and softly kisses my mouth.

"Just like that," she smiles against my lips and I light up like New York City.

I pull her into my arms and flip her onto her back, hovering over her, breathless, yet full of life. I need her. I have never needed her more. I need us to be one.

"Now, about that rain check," I say just before I place my lips on hers and search for buried treasure.


	22. Chapter 22

**Thank you for all your reviews last chapter! I'm working on a Halloween story, so be on the lookout next week. And the ball is coming... xo**

"I look like Zorro!" I say, regarding my reflection in the mirror over my office desk as I adjust my black mask with the silver lining. Silver lining, my ass. There's no hope that this thing won't have people thinking I'm part of the entertainment portion of the event tonight. I'm surprised it doesn't come with a matching cape and stallion. No, I take that back, I don't look like Zorro. I look like Zorro's asshat cousin. "Is this my only choice?"

"It's what the mask maker sent over, sir," Taylor says as I turn to face him.

"Mask maker? That's actually a profession?" Who the fuck chooses mask making as their life's work and isn't a part of the BDSM community?

"The Milkie Brothers, sir," he says, like that's supposed to mean something to me.

"The Milkie Brothers?" I ask, emphasis on the _Milkie_. "That's who we use?" Why am I asking when I don't even want to fucking know.

"Yes, sir. Every year."

"I never paid attention to any other year, all I care about is this one!"

"If I may say so, I think it matches your tuxedo quite well."

"It's black. Of course it matches! That's not the point."

"Well, it fits nice." Is he getting a Milkie deal on the back end or something?

"Nice?! My eyes don't even line up with the holes right," I point, exasperated by the ball to hole ratio. A quarter of each eye is cloaked in satin, so my peripheral vision is fucked. How am I supposed to see if someone's trying to sexualize Ana from the side? "The only person whose eyes are this far apart isn't a person, it's a turtle."

"I'll let them know you'd like another selection. They are a trusted name, sir."

"You can't trust a mask maker! They spend their lives trying to invent fancy ways for people to hide." I take the mask off and hand it to Taylor. "Take care of it."

"Yes, sir. Would you like to see the selection they sent over for Miss Steele?"

I look to my desk where the three are laid out. One for each gown I've purchased for Ana, so whichever she chooses to wear, she'll have a coordinating face piece.

"Now, these are beautiful." The Milkie men delivered something right. I touch one, imagining her blue eyes peeking out from behind the peacock feathers and gathered ebony netting as I fuck her brains out in my childhood bedroom.

"Taylor, can I ask you something?" I turn to him, uneasy with what I'm about to say. I've never been this vulnerable with him before.

"Anything, sir."

"Just between you and me..." I whisper, not sure why I'm whispering because we're the only two in the closed door room. Probably because it's so embarrassing I don't want to hear it myself. "You're a socially active kind of guy..."

"Not really, I spend most all my time with you, sir."

"But, you've dated women before, right?"

"I was married, sir. And Gail and I-"

"No, I know." I wave my hands to cut him off. The last thing I need to hear is his entire sexual history and I sure as hell don't want details about Gail and him. I want to be able to eat her bolognese without thinking about where her hands have been. "I just want your professional opinion on something."

"Professional?"

"As a dater."

"I'm not a professional, sir." What the fuck? He offered that up with a little too much protest. He acts like I'm accusing him of being a paid escort or something. I question what that man does nights. But, I don't fucking care as long as he helps me with mine.

"By professional, I mean experienced. A man who's at least been on one."

"One what?"

"Date!" What is this, _Who's on First_?

"Okay, Mr. Grey," he says, but it's more of a question than a statement.

"How does it look?" I stand in front of him, arms out, ready for assessment.

"How does what look, sir?"

"My ensemble."

He scans me up and down, back and forth. His eyes dart around me so much it's like he's having a seizure. I can't tell what he's thinking. He's got his 'I'll never let the enemy know, even if they torture me' face on.

"Gail's done a nice press on that shirt." I'm waiting for more, but if I was holding my breath for it I'd be dead.

"That's it?"

"What's it?"

"That's your only reaction?" I clench my jaw to temper my ire. "That my shirt is well pressed? That's not a compliment!"

"You wanted me to compliment you, sir?"

"I wanted your natural reaction and I'd hoped it would constitute one better than my shirt is ironed."

"I meant you look put together, Mr. Grey"

"I don't want to look put together. I want attractive. Handsome even. Someone you'd be proud to make an entrance with."

"I'm always proud to be around you, sir."

"You are?" I'm taken off guard, touched even. I thought he was only with me because of the money. "That's a nice thing to say-" What the fuck? This is no time to exchange love letters with Taylor! "Not you, Anastasia! I want to make sure I look, you know... Date worthy." I'm beginning to sweat now that the hour of the ball is drawing nigh. Either that or there's piss running down my leg that I didn't know about.

He purses his lips like he knows a secret about me he won't share and I don't think it's my wet leg. He gets that same look every time I talk about Anastasia. Fucker. He's always so damn delighted in my lovers angst.

"I think Miss Steele will be very proud to be on your arm, Mr. Grey," he smiles. When does he ever do that? Air shows?

"You really think?" I ask, realizing I sound pubescent and far too hopeful, which is exactly what I'm feeling inside. Is this what kids go through when they go to prom? I can't imagine my nerves if I had pizza face acne and had to drive my father's sedan.

"I know it's not my place to say, but I think she really likes you."

"You do?" My voice just jumped three octaves and I grew ten feet taller. He nods. My heart flip flops all over the place and butterflies do ballet in my gut.

"Wait, Mr. Grey..." he says, his eyes catching on my neck region.

"What's wrong?" I ask, suddenly panicked that I should've chosen the wing tip collar over the turndown.

"You have a spot of something on your collar. Shall I ask Gail to take that out?" Before I can answer his eyes grow wide with alarm. "You've got little red spots all down the sides of your shirt."

"What are you talking about?" I look down. Shit, the lipstick is sweating through.

"Are you bleeding, sir?" What does he think, I have multiple stab wounds I forgot about?

"No! It's just how my sweat looks in this light."

"There's a stripe of red across your neck, too," he says, then, as he looks closer, I can see it dawn on him like the hallelujah sun rising in the east. "It's lipstick, Mr. Grey."

"It's fine." I back away, cupping my hand over my collar, protective of the Ana drawn line. Now it's clear what I did with the lipstick. I can see him fighting a snicker. Yes, it's hilarious, Taylor. I'm covered in Inner Demons. "Just get me a new mask! Preferably one that doesn't make me look like I'm about to case the joint or do horse tricks."

"Yes, sir."

He exits the room. Before I go to my bedroom to throw on another shirt, I open my top drawer and ready the items I have for Ana: the velvet pouch and the red leather box. Both, I hope, will bring a smile to her face and to mine.

#######

I climb the stairs for what feels like the millionth time today to find Ana and give her my gifts. I swear I've never climbed so many stairs for anyone in my life. No one's been worth the steps. I want to catch her before she gets dressed so I can place my balls inside of her- the silver ones that is- so she'll be begging for me to go balls deep inside of her later. As I make my way to the former submissive room, my thoughts return to my afternoon with Ana. It was, as ever, unexpected...

We broke the submissive bed. Literally. Down it came, after I made Ana come, seemingly out of nowhere or maybe it was always destined to collapse in an unceremonious thud. After all, it has only ever held the weight of one. Looking back on the afternoon's events, of course it was inevitable. The submissive bed had to die and the love I made to Ana killed it.

"I need to feel you," I say, pulling her shirt off and making quick work of removing her bra. I pitch it and like a scene from a movie it lands on the lampshade, shadowing the ceiling. The lace silhouette of the cups hanging over us like a canopy of brassiere.

"Oh Christian," she pants, her fingers knotted up in my hair as I run my hand down her chest and across each breast softly with the tips of my own. She pulls with such force my follicles are holding on for dear life. But, it feels so fucking good that I don't care if I'm patchwork bald like a mange ridden cat at the end of this. I'm for her eyes only, anyway.

I push her onto the mattress and take care of each nipple, sucking and nipping at one while I pinch and twist the other. She cries out and bucks against me as I hold her in place with my body, my erection hardening against her as I slide myself up her frame.

"Do you feel how hard you make me, baby? Do you know how much I want you?" I whisper and she mewls.

"That's right, let me hear you," I say, moving my mouth to her other breast as she throws her head back and lets me, and probably the rest of Escala, hear her like never before. Her neck is left exposed and I can't resist. I run my tongue from her nipple up her chest and throat until I reach her mouth, pushing and parting her lips with it and tangling mine with hers.

"I think you're far too overdressed, Miss Steele," I murmur against her lips, moving my fingers down her stomach to the button on her jeans. I play with it for a little bit, watching her breath quicken, desperate for me to undress her. "Should I take these off?"

"Yes," she pants, bucking as my finger slides up and down the denim that lays barrier between me and her flesh.

"Are you sure?" It's so fun to tease. "Maybe we should stop."

"Please, Christian!" It's even more fun to hear her beg.

I undo the button and run my tongue down and across the patch of exposed skin just above her panty line. Bringing my mouth to her zipper, I take it between my teeth and slide it open deliciously slow. I can smell the arousal on her panties as I nuzzle her all the way down..

"Maybe this is as far a we should go." I whisper, my warm breath against her lace covered skin, knowing full well I'm just above the spot she wants my mouth on the most.

"Take off my jeans," she orders, bucking her hips up. She is a demanding little thing and I've come to realize that I like it.

"Yes, ma'am." As she lifts, I slide her jeans off, throwing them to the floor. I move my mouth up her inner thighs, giving each one equal attention, back and forth, running my tongue and teeth across and up her flesh until I reach her panty covered sex.

"Please!" she cries out, as I trace the edges of her panties with my finger. Slipping my hand under the elastic, I slide my fingers up and down her slit.

"Oh Ana, you are so wet," I murmur, my cock nearly jumping through the zipper it's caged behind.

"I want you," she says, moaning as one, then two of my fingers fill her.

"Do you now?" I move them back and forth, finger fucking her as she drips on my hand, then just before she finds satisfaction, I slide them out and brush them on her lips. She immediately opens her mouth to suck, tasting herself and giving one hell of a blow job to my middle and fore finger. Good girl.

"What shall I do to you now?" I whisper in her ear as I release my fingers from her mouth and slide my hand down her body to her hip.

She doesn't say a word. She doesn't have to. She just parts her legs and I'm undone. I need so much from her right now, but I want to give her so much in return. I want to lose myself in her and find myself again. Being with Ana is baptism.

In the middle of my nearly religious experience, I halt, remembering something ungodly. The fucking condom. Damn, I hate those things. But, not as much as I hate children. I'd rather wrap my cock in a wool sock and fuck a bowl than accidentally knock Ana up. Which reminds me, I have to call Dr. Greene to get Ana a shot on the double. No more fucking around with a pill a day while we're fucking around. If there's one thing I know, like death and taxes, you can always depend on the shot.

I scramble up and remove my jeans and boxers. Her eyes are on me, or rather my cock as he springs free and jumps to glory like he just won the long jump, the fast mile and the pole vault all at once. No buddy, but you're about to.

"Here," I grab the packet from my pocket and throw it to her. She smiles- yes, Ana, always prepared- and then tears the foil like she's ripping off the wrapping paper from Santa's biggest gift, which, I don't mean to blow my own kazoo, is appropriate under the circumstances.

"You on top," I say, moving to lie on my back and pulling her astride me. She readies the ballon and slides it on my animal. Animal is right; I'm like a caged beast ready to devour her. Fuck, I can't wait any longer. I lift her hips and guide myself inside of her.

"Oh god!" she moans as I fill her and then starts to move up and down, picking up the pace as we go. She's like heaven on earth, so tight and wet, her body wrapped around my cock like it was made just for her. I take her hands in mine because I just want to hold them, but also to brace her so she can really move. It also doesn't hurt she won't be able to explore the new map she drew on the quick. It's a win-win-win situation.

"You feel so good, Ana." I thrust myself into her sharply, stilling deep inside as she cries out. "That's right feel me, baby." I start to move and her breath quickens. I want to see her come, clenching and pulsating, completely losing herself around me. I want to show her it would never be as good with anyone else. I want to make her never want to leave me again.

As I feel her every shudder and listen to her every cry, I find myself moving my body in a rhythm simply to please her. As if I'm reading the notes of a piece at my piano, but her body is my instrument and the music is nothing but sweet.

"What are you smiling at?" she pants, peeking at me through her hooded lids. I hadn't realized I was.

"You." My eyes not leaving hers, I roll my hips, slowly filling every precious inch of her. "My Ana."

"Yes, yours. Always." With those words I'm undone. We gaze at each other for a moment and my heart swells. I've needed this all afternoon to know that we're okay. And okay is so much more than okay; it's amazing.

I start to pick up the pace, getting lost in her, in us. She throws her head back in ecstasy and I know she's close. I know my girl. I sit up sharply, moving my fingers roughly through her hair as I pull her into a kiss.

"Get on your knees and hold onto the headboard," I whisper breathlessly against her mouth, her lips swollen from my bites. "I think you need to be fucked hard."

She does as she's told, with zip I may add, and I thrust into her from behind, fucking her- no making mad, passionate, earth shattering love to her- with all that I have to give. The headboard bucks and slams against the wall as her palms flatten and push against it, giving her momentum to meet me thrust for thrust.

"Oh god, yes!" she cries out as she lets go gloriously around me. Her ecstasy alone sends me over the edge and I come violently inside of her.

"Oh Ana," I cry in veneration as my head finds place of worship on her back. I don't want to pull out. I want to stay this close forever. "You make me feel..." The letters trip in my throat as I fight for the air and courage to put them together and say them aloud. It's so much easier to declare love to Hemingway.

"Ana, I-"

"Yes, Christian?" She lets out a sated breath, humming with contentment.

This is the moment. You can do this, Grey!

"Ana, I-"

Crack. Creak. Clunk. The right side of the mattress collapses. We start to slide off, but I pull out of her quickly, finding balance as I wrap my arms around her and hold her firmly in my lap.

"Ana, I think we broke the bed."

Caplunk.

########

"We destroyed it," Ana says, her naked body splayed across me as she tilts her head off the edge and surveys the damage.

"We're a savage pair, Miss Steele." I smile, stroking her back as she brings her cheek to rest on my chest inside the drawn red lines. Leave it Ana to immediately break the rules. But, surprisingly, I don't mind her head on my heart. Something about this feels so normal and I've never felt anything close to that. Not normal like average or mediocre. It's the nothing that's really something that I'd imagine people behind a white picket fence would do.

Something catches in my throat and my eyes begin to water. It isn't food or flu, though. It's feelings. It's happening every time now, this condition I suffer from called afterglow. The belly flutters, the dizzy head, the warm sensation that snuggles in the area Cosmopolitan says is my heart. As if all that and my weeping wasn't enough, I'm experiencing something more terrifying than ever before. This overpowering urge has taken hold of my senses and I want the unthinkable to happen... I want her to touch me.

I take a breath. No Grey, it's just those bonding hormones Cosmo wrote about. The ones that bubble up in postcoital cuddling. I shift, trying to fend them off, but Ana doesn't let me go. Instead, she tucks in closer, placing her fingers on my forearm, lightly stroking my bicep. Oh where I want to put those fingers right now, and shockingly it's not my cock. I imagine what it might feel like if she ran her nails along my collar bone and her tips traveled down my chest, pulling and twisting my tufts of hair like she does on my head. These vivid thoughts and the motion of her fingers up and down my arm sends shivers up my spine that explode like fireworks through my scalp. Is it possible to have an orgasm on your head?

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, startling me out of my fantasy. I open my eyes to meet hers and a fuzzy feeling envelops me. The headgasm is moving through my body like warm honey. Is this honey the feeling of love?

"I'm thinking how beautiful you are," I say, touching my hand to hers and playing with her fingers as my whole body is overcome with the comforting sensation.

What happens next, blame it on the honey. Out of nowhere, like I'm a bystander to my own being, I lift her hand. Time and space are suspended, as I hold it in mid air, testing the possibilities of more.

"What are you doing with my hand?" she asks as I continue to hold it up. What am I doing with it? Come on, Grey, this is getting weird. You can't just hold her hand up in the air all night, you need to make a decision. Land it or abandon course.

I wrestle with the pros and the cons, rattling them off in my head as fast as I can. Could I do this? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. No, Grey, you can't be touched. But, what if I could be? Maybe she's right, maybe I am crazy. Maybe I suffer from honey infused schizophrenia.

"Uh... You have sexy fingers," I say, courage lost for palm on peck placement as I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss each tip.

"My fingers are sexy?" she crinkles her nose, smelling a rat in my story.

"They're long and lean and beautiful." Still holding her hand, I intertwine my fingers with hers and rest our knotted palms on my chest. She may not be actually touching me, but at least I can feel her. "Like you."

"You're amazingly sweet sometimes," she smiles, but she's skeptical. When will she get it through her head she's fucking gorgeous? I've never seen anything like her.

"No, nothing sweet about me."

"You are sweet, you know." And for a moment, although fleeting, the look in her eyes makes me believe that I am.

"You. Are. Beautiful." I brush her hair behind her ear as she rolls her eyes. "You really have no idea, do you?"

"Stop," she flushes and tucks her head so I can't see her face through her hair. I won't have it; I place my fingers on her chin and tip it upward so we're eye to eye.

"All those boys after you, that doesn't make you realize it?"

"Boys? What boys?"

"You want a list? The photographer, your boss, that guy who wants to stay with you..."

"Ethan?"

"That's the fucker."

"He's Kate's brother!" she says, like it means something.

"Well, he's not your brother."

"Are you saying you think he'd try something?"

"Yes!"

"Christian, he just needs a place to crash." Likely story! More like crash his junk into Ana's trunk.

"Ana, if you remember anything I say, let it be this- you can't trust penises in the dark."

"I don't even know what to say to that."

"You're lucky I was with you at the ihop. Who knows what could've happened."

"The ihop?

"In Georgia. The fellas walking in as we were walking out."

"Did you just says 'fellas'?" She giggles.

"Yes, I did. They practically eye fucked you." She can't stop laughing. "Ana, when you're laughing, you're not listening."

"Okay, I'll remember that. And no penis after dark."

"I didn't say none. No one but mine."

"Good, because it'll be dark soon." She licks her lips. Naughty minx.

"Hardware guy," I say, suddenly remembering that flat-head at the store.

"Paul?"

"Whatever, he wants you, too."

"He knows I don't want him. I've said no every time he's asked me out."

"How many times is every?" This fucker is more slippery than I thought.

"I don't know," she says, scrunching her nose, acting like she's trying to remember. She knows, she just doesn't want to say it. "Like... a dozen."

"A dozen?! What kind of guy asks a girl out twelve times after she's said no?" I better have Welch do a background check on this predator. What else doesn't he take no as an answer for? My temper is only calmed by the fact that he's in another state.

"Oh Christian, you're being silly-"

"He wants what's mine." I pull her closer to me. "They all want what's mine."

"Yes, yours," she says with a sweet sincerity that gives me hope she means it. Lifting our still intertwined fingers, she peels her hand away from mine. For a moment I'm fearful, but I calm as she brushes my cheek and it's honey again.

"The line is intact." she says, taking me by surprise as she traces her finger along the lipstick marks.

"The apartment?" I ask, in an effort to distract.

"No, your body." I clench the muscles of my belly in anticipation as fear, longing and something darkly sensual twist in my gut. I wanted her to touch me and here we are. Be careful what you wish for.

"We can do that." I stroke the finger she's tickling me with.

"I just want to touch you everywhere I'm allowed."

"I can think of a few places you're more than allowed," I tease.

"I'm serious."

I catch her index finger, bring it to my mouth and bite down gently.

"Ow." She says, playfully.

"Okay," I acquiesce, but notice there's a saggy wet bag still attached to my cock. "Wait." I remove the condom, knot it and throw it onto the floor. "I have a good mind to call Dr. Greene around to give you a shot." Good mind? It's happening tomorrow.

"You think the top OBGYN in Seattle would come running just because you called?"

"Yes. I can be very persuasive."

"I've noticed."

"Franco's done a lovely job with your layers," I say, twisting her hair between my fingers.

"Stop changing the subject." She's always onto me, this one.

"Okay." I shift so she's on my lap and leaning against my knees. "Touch away. I'm ready." I think.

Keeping her eyes glued to mine, she lowers her finger and traces just underneath the lipstick line across my lower belly. Her hands are soft and the sensation feels nice and somewhat arousing. This is nice. Just as I close my eyes and begin to relax, enjoying this feeling of newfound intimacy between us, a flash of something dark and terrifying surfaces and I flinch.

"I don't have to," she whispers, lifting her fingers from me.

"No, it's fine. Just takes some…readjustment on my part. No one's touched me for a long time."

"Mrs. Robinson?" she asks, saying her name like it's a dirty word. Fuck, why do we have to bring her up?

I nod with hesitance. "I don't want to talk about her. It will sour your good mood."

"I can handle it." Oh right, Ana. Famous last words. The last words being 'keep out' written all over her vagina.

"No, you can't, Ana. You see red whenever I mention her. My past is my past. It's a fact. I can't change it. I'm lucky that you don't have one, because it would drive me crazy if you did."

"Drive you crazy? More than you are already?" she smiles. She's teasing me.

"Crazy for you." She has no idea, I've been formally diagnosed.

"Shall I call Dr. Flynn?"

"I don't think that will be necessary." He diagnosed me. "Besides, I don't want to be cured from this particular affliction."

"I like touching you," she says, her fingers traveling down my happy trail and my cock responds. God, that feels amazing. Happy trail touching is a definite 'yes, ma'am'. Keep going, there's a pot of gold at the end of it. My hips begin to move. She tickles me with her nails and I inhale sharply as my erection stirs.

"Again?" she asks in a breathy whisper as I harden against her.

"Oh yes, Miss Steele, again." I flip her onto her back and within moments I'm inside of her.

And again, it's honey.

#######

I smile, standing outside the door, enjoying my recall. A memorable afternoon, indeed. I'm looking forward to the night ahead. I reach into my pocket and rub my balls for luck- my silver ones that is- just before I walk inside.

All I see are legs. Long, lean, delicious stems in silk stockings whose lace tops just kiss the upper thighs. A thin black seam travels upward along the back like a compass leading my eyes to a land I hadn't been promised, but I'm so glad I found.

"Can I help you, Mr. Grey?" Ana asks, looking back at me over her shoulder as she hooks the matching bra. "I assume there is some purpose to your visit other than to gawk mindlessly at me." I would answer her quickly, but I'm finding it hard to speak. All the blood has traveled to my cock.

"I am rather enjoying my mindless gawk, thank you, Miss Steele," I murmur, as she turns to face me in her bra. Her breasts are held so beautifully in their designer baskets. Like ripe, juicy peaches I want to devour. "Remind me to send a personal note of thanks to Caroline Acton." I think I'll send her to Hawaii on an all expense paid vacation for this gawk alone.

Ana scrunches her nose, quizzically.

"The personal shopper at Neiman's," I say, answering the scrunch. I know the language of scrunches now, too.

"Oh."

"I'm quite distracted." I skim my eyes down her body, imagining her legs wrapped around my head wearing everything in that getup but the underwear.

"I can see that. What do you want, Christian?"

"How's that?" Or I could slide her parties to the side, keeping the ensemble in tact...

"Do you have a reason to be here?"

"Do I need one?" I should ask if they come in crotchless.

"No," she smiles, coyly, biting that lip.

"Good, because I have one." I pull the velvet pouch out of my pocket, which she recognizes immediately. The smile leaves her face. "It's not what you think."

"Enlighten me," she whispers, those soft, billowing words wrapping around my rod and stroking it.

"I thought you could wear these tonight."

She says nothing for a few moments, her eyes glued to mine as I hold the pouch out in my palm.

"To this event?" Her breath hitches. I think I've surprised her.

I nod, slowly. She swallows.

"Will you spank me later?" The words trip out.

"No." I'm adamant, trying to reassure her that I will never hurt her again. But, she does the most surprising thing, she sighs. It's as if I've let the air out of a ballon I didn't know I blew.

"You want me to?" She's disappointed? I watch her as she furrows her brow in thought, trying to read her face. This girl confounds me at every step.

"I don't know..." Uncertainty. That will never do. If I ever spank her again she'll have to be sure.

"Well, rest assured I am not going to touch you like that, not even if you beg me." I won't give her a reason to leave me again.

I close the door behind me and step closer to her.

"Do you want to play this game?" I smile with wicked intent. I imagine her sitting next to me at the table- her cheeks flushed, pulse quickening, crossing her legs repeatedly to try and dull the unbearable ache.

"Game on, Mr. Grey." She purposely bites her lip. Naughty minx.

"Good girl," I circle her, moving behind her and resting my palm on her ass. She shivers and I know she wants this. I lean in, my lips moving across her neck until I reach her ear and whisper, "Put your shoes on."

"My shoes?" She glances at the floor where her sky high Louboutin's are placed.

I nod, my breath on her ear is making the hairs on her neck stand on end. I hold my hand out and she takes it for balance as she steps into her shoes. She teeters as she adjusts to the height. Once balanced, I let go of her hand and step back, admiring the way her ass looks in those skyscrapers. I have to bite my knuckles. Mighty fine, Miss Steele.

I lead her to the bedside and pull the chair that sits in the corner over, placing it in front of her.

"When I nod, you bend down and hold on to the chair. Understand?"

"Yes." Her breath quickens.

"Good. Now open your mouth." She parts her lips and I stick my index finger inside, wishing it was my cock. "Suck..."

She reaches up and takes hold of my hand, wrapping her lips tightly around my finger as she sucks. She moans and the vibration on my skin goes straight to my dick. I may explode in my pants, but I want her to be highly aroused when I slip these things inside of her. I want her wet for me.

After sufficient suck, I pull my finger out and she nips it.

"Bad girl," I playfully scold and she twists her lips, fighting a smile.

I nod slowly, giving her the signal. She bends over, holding the back of the chair as I sit and position myself on the bed behind her. God, she's flexible. I can only imagine the acrobatic possibilities. Her ass sticks up high in the air and I feel a twitch in my palm, but I gather my myself, busying my hands by moving her panties to the side instead. Pushing one finger into her depths, I circle her at a pace slow enough to drive her to madness.

"Oh," she gasps. She's more than wet right now. If she was a movie she'd be '_A River Runs Through It'_. I remove my finger and take the balls out of their pouch. One by one I insert them, pushing them deep inside of her. When they're in position I put her panties in place. I can't resist it, I kiss her her right ass cheek, tracing my Ana-wet fingers up and down the seams on the back of her legs. As if to make a promise for later, I kiss the top of each thigh high.

I stand, grasping her hips, sliding my body up hers. She gasps when she feels the evidence of my arousal. The balls are definitely affecting her and me.

"Do you feel that?" I ask, brushing my erection against her ass.

"Yes." she whimpers.

"_Steele_ hard," I say, smiling against her throat. Pun definitely intended.

"You're not funny." She shudders. She really wants this. I have a feeling we won't be at the table for long.

"Maybe I'll have you this way when we get home, Anastasia." One more look at her glorious ass in the air. "You can stand now."

As she does, I pull the red box out from my other pocket. I'm so nervous. She doesn't always react positively to gifts. In fact, she gets downright angry. And these cost more than the car, the books and electronic devices put together. I take a deep breath, hoping it's not my last.

"I bought these for you to wear to last Saturday's gala." I put my arm around her, holding out my hand with the box. The Cartier inscription glimmers in the light. "But you left me, so I never had the opportunity to give them to you."

She says nothing as she stares at the box and I can't see her eyes to gauge her reaction.

"This is my second chance," I murmur, the nerves taking hold of my voice. I remember the hope I had buying them that day, then the hope that was lost when she left. But, here she is again. The thing about hope and Ana is she always gives me more.

Thirty years or thirty seconds pass when she reaches for the box and opens it. It's hard to tell time when I'm with her.

Her jaw drops when she sees them and her hand moves involuntarily to her heart.

"They're lovely," she whispers as she moves to touch them.

"You like them?" my voice cracks making me sound fourteen.

"I love them."

She takes one out and holds it up. The chandelier of diamonds sparkle, but I don't look at them. There's a far more dazzling view of them in her eyes.

"Second chance earrings," she says. I smile and kiss her shoulder. "Thank you, Mr. Grey." She turns to face me completely. There are tears in her eyes and this time I'm happy I put them there.

"No, thank you, Miss Steele." For this day. This night. This second chance.

I step back and breathe sigh of relief. She likes them. She's wearing the balls. Things are looking up for tonight. Maybe I didn't need dating advice after all. Maybe I'm a natural. Who would've thought. Fuck Chance, leave it to Grey.

"You're wearing the silver?" I ask, motioning to the gown hanging on he door.

"Yes. Is that all right?"

"Of course." I know just the mask to match it. "I'll leave you to get ready."

She smiles and starts to do just that as I move to the door. Before I leave, I take one look back. I smile at the broken bed, the stained sheets, the scattered clothes. It's a mess. The kind you make on Christmas morning and you don't want to clean up right away.


	23. Chapter 23

**_Here's a quick chapter. Another one will be posted in the next few days and I'm getting ready for a big Thanksgiving story. Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews on the Halloween story! It means so much. That one was so fun to write and I'm glad you all liked it. I will continue writing themed pieces for the holidays and beyond following the same timeline. Again, thank you for all your kind words, I appreciate them all! Ash xo_**

A woman shrieks as I run my fingers along my monstrous organ. Only it's not my organ I'm fingering, it's my old piano teacher, Miss Kathie's. The one she used to play during church service when I was a kid who hated God. What the hell is it doing in my parent's backyard at the Coping Together ball? What the hell am I doing playing this instrument that sounds like it should be welcoming the dead on their first stop beyond the grave. Coping Together... How about I go home and cope alone.

The woman isn't shrieking, shockingly, she's singing to the music I am playing, but her tone is less than deaf; it's like it never had any ears at all. Or maybe she doesn't... I can't see beyond her bush of blonde hair. It's an opera about a troubled boy, his love for a girl too good for him and the suffering he endures when she leaves. Fitting that this woman who strangles my notes on stage is turning this performance into a real tragedy.

"Bellissima!" A man in a gold lame jumpsuit shouts from the dance floor, nursing a cosmopolitan. Is that the hairdresser, Franco? Why is he dancing with a snarling, foaming mouth dog? Wait, is that Elena? They both have the same hair..

The woman on stage hits a particularly high note and the mirror behind me shatters. I turn and catch my reflection in the fifty- yes, I counted them- broken shards. I'm wearing a mask and a black cape. Am I Zorro? No, I'm something much darker... Zorro's evil twin?

The solid mask that covers half my face is heavy and gray and the skin beneath it wants to breathe, but I can't remove it. I can't let anyone see what I hide. I continue to play my piece shrouded in darkness behind a floor full of party guests dancing under a midnight sky.

I watch the grand chandelier that's suspended in mid air sway in the breeze, raining confetti made of light down on the waltzing pairs. Why are they waltzing to opera? Even my mother and father are oblivious to the notes I'm playing. They're all smiles and rhythm to a piece that should only serve to shed tears. Do they not hear my music at all or am I the only one who understands notes so sad?

Suddenly the girl stops her ear-sore screeching and throws the back of her hand dramatically to her brow. My organ ceases to sound.

"I can't sing," the mass of blonde hair says. Tell me something I don't know. "My voice is lost and my head faint. This will not please the Phantom."

The Phantom? Who the fuck is the Phantom? And whoever he is, I'm sure as hell he'd rather you not sing at all.

The party guests gasp as she drops to the floor and a curtain is pulled. I look to hair spilled out on the wood, the Sasquatch feet, the bitchy face at rest. I know this girl. Kavanagh! Wait, isn't she supposed to be in Barbados with my brother?

"Lady Katherine!" a man's voice calls out. Lady? Believe me, nothing about Kavanagh is a lady. "Are you all right?" a Hollywood director type, speaking through a hand held megaphone, asks as he crosses the stage. God, he looks an awful lot like Flynn. Since when does Flynn direct opera?

"I'm ill," she whispers. "I think it's the flu. Ana must take my place tonight."

Ana... Where's Ana?

"This is as fate should have it," he says, lifting Kavanagh from the ground and carrying her stage side. Maybe he is Flynn, because he makes no fucking sense.

"Anastasia!" he calls out through his megaphone. The name echoes, but no one seems to notice the beauty of its audible bounce but me. The letters tangle in the dance of light from the chandelier and I can see each one illuminated in gold and spelled out over the ink black sky. I try to catch the sparkling pieces of the most beautiful name I've ever known in my palms, but they slip through my fingers as my hands are pulled by the darkness back to my keys.

"You must take her place," the director says as the shadow of a girl tip-toes to the corner of the stage. "The Phantom needs you." He turns and he points my way.

The Phantom? That's me? I thought I was Zorro's evil twin. How the fuck did I become the Phantom of the Opera? Those damn Milkie Brothers and their masks.

And then, out of the shadows, I see what poems have versed and songs have sung and my thoughts and words cease to exist at all. Nothing is the same when I see her. Her, now a word meaningless to describe another. The most beautiful vision my eyes have ever beheld is her. And her is everything.

"I can't sing. I study English Lit," she says, the legs of her shadow stretched across the stage.

"Copy what I do," Kavanagh says, coughing on the ground. Oh god, don't tell her to do that.

"Just follow your heart," Flynn says, sending her on her way.

She crosses the stage and steps out of the shadows and into the spotlight, standing silent before a pin-drop crowd. She's hesitant, nervous maybe, playing with the chestnut curls that dust her shoulders and kicking a turned in toe. But, I can feel there's song in her heart that my notes can reveal. I press my fingers against the keys and my music suddenly comes to life because I'm no longer playing for me, I'm playing for her.

She turns to me, watching as my song fills with passion and builds for her voice to join. She opens her mouth and a single note escapes turning into a marigold butterfly that finds way to me and lands on my chest. I gasp, fearful of the fluttering wings moving over my heart. But, I don't run. Eyes glued to hers, I keep playing. With each note she sings, a new butterfly escapes her mouth and finds place on my chest, until my black cloaked heart is completely covered in a rainbow blanket of butterfly wings.

She sounds like an angel. I take that back, she is one. The operatic notes falling from her mouth match the intensity of my chords. It's as if she can read my notes by the way they vibrate on her skin and move throughout her body. I am drawn to her light from my darkness; and in turn I think her light is drawn to me.

As the world around her continues to waltz, she sings the final notes, clutches her pained heart and falls to her knees, sobbing. Without her song, the butterflies depart, flying away into the night and disappearing behind the part of two clouds. It's a fitting end to a sad piece, but I don't think she's weeping for the boy in the music; I think she's weeping for me.

There are applause. An ovation. A threatening growl from Elena Dog. The curtain is drawn. I try to move to her, but the darkness holds me back. I'm voiceless, breathless. Air has ceased to be enough to breathe since I've seen her.

"Ana!" I cry out, but my voice has no sound.

"Ana," calls another man simultaneously, walking toward her with drugstore cheap heart shaped balloons, bouquets of carnations and a camera with which he snaps her picture. "You are my star."

The photographer! She's not his star, she's mine!

"Oh Jose," she says, wiping her eyes and falling into his arms, amidst the romantic offerings. "They're all so wonderful."

"Only hearts and flowers for you, Anastasia."

He leans in to kiss her. She backs away.

"Nooooooo!" I scream, shaking the chandelier with my shrill cry.

It falls dramatically, the glittering glass raining down as it traps Jose beneath it with his romantic notions.

"The Phantom! Run!" My parents' nosey neighbor lady sings out like she's part of the show. Mind your own business, Petula! The irony not lost on me that she's fat and she's just sung, so this opera must definitely be over.

The crowd screams and scatters in fear.

"Jose!" Ana calls out.

"Ana!" he calls back. "The Phantom will never give you what you need!"

"Fuck off, Jose!" I yell, running to Ana. Grabbing her at the waist, I pull her to me. There's a moment of electricity between us. The chandelier sparks and Jose cries out in pain from mild electrocution.

"Christian," she says. She's the only one who says my name and I like it.

"Ana," I stroke her cheek. "Come with me."

"But," she looks back to Jose. "I can't leave him."

"Why not?"

"He'll give me hearts and flowers."

"No. He'll give you carnations. There's a difference."

"Get him!" a man yells, with a lynch mob carrying baseball bats following close behind. I think that's my peewee league T-Ball coach, Joe, and all the guys I brawled with freshman year of high school.

Before anyone can take Ana from me, I lift her, holding her tightly to my chest, and run.

"You can't run forever!" Coach Joe shouts as they visibly begin to tire.

"I'm faster than I was running bases!" I yell back to him. "I have a former Olympian training me now!"

He flips me off. He always dreamed of Olympic gold, but never made it past Junior College bronze.

Suddenly a horse appears out of thin air. It's Zorro's stallion and Taylor is riding it, wearing the Zorro mask.

"How far are you taking Miss Steele with you, sir?" he asks.

With a flip of my cape we fly upwards, magically landing on horseback behind him.

"To forever."

"To forever it is, Mr. Grey." Taylor holds the reins and we're off.

With long strides, the horse takes us far into a barren desert to a high stone wall. There's nowhere farther to run. Holding her close, I jump from the horse, and Taylor and the stallion evaporate into a haze of sand.

I take the key to my playroom from my pocket and open the lock of a door buried in the ground. I carry her down flights of worn wooden stairs with treacherous turns and corners so dark no rat would fear go, far beneath the earth into the depths of my depravity, just edging hell. I never knew how far down it was until I took her here.

"Why are we here?" she asks as we arrive at my playroom. The whips and restraints and smell of polished wood permeate. But, the smell of Ana to me is more.

"Because it's the only place I know." I say, watching her skin glow and sparkle like the dust from a wishing star.

"I know other places."

"Please don't leave me for them." I bow my head against her neck.

She touches the flesh of my face that's not hidden. I flinch, but don't pull away. Much like those butterflies, her soft fingertips warm the chill beneath my skin and I'm aglow in her stardust. It's not often you hold a wishing star.

"Show me," she says, running her fingers along the mask's edge. I turn away, but she stops me, continuing to trace her tips from my brow to my cheek to the point of my chin. I tremble as she lifts the mask's edge from my skin. "Show me your darkness."

"No-" I fight to get away, but I can't without letting her go. "You'll leave me."

"Never," she gently pulls the mask from my face. "I will never leave. No matter what-"

She gasps.

The mask falls from her hands and shatters all over my playroom floor. Her face is immediately changed. The sweet smile she wore is replaced with wide eyed horror. She screams a bloody terror that flames my scars as if the burn was brand new. Just as I feared, she begins to back away.

"No, Ana!"

I grab cuffs from the wall, trying to restrain her and keep her here. But, the light is blinding me and taking her away fast.

"No, please, Ana! Don't go! I love you!" I fall to my knees, bowing my head in submission. I don't know if she sees me, because I don't look up. "Please love me."

And I stay there on my knees, whimpering, not lifting my eyes. The worst of it not being the shrillness of her screams or the fear in her cries. The worst of it being the silence that follows. For no matter how bright in the night sky they shine, all wishing stars fly away.

I wake with a jolt; sweat streaming down my face. Clutching my chest, I try to catch my breath. Where am I? I look around. I'm on the sofa in the great room. I must've fallen asleep waiting for Ana to dress. I gather myself, wiping my face with a handkerchief from my pocket. That nightmare was all too real. I vow then and there Ana can never know the darkest of me. Ever.

She'll be down at any moment, I must hurry and ready. The evening is ahead.


	24. Chapter 24

**_And so it begins... The ball is ahead and so is my Thanksgiving story. And for those who have been asking, I will update the baby Teddy story soon, too. Thanks for your reviews! I'm so happy you are enjoying! xo_**

"Taylor, I need you to make me an appointment with my gynecologist," I say, lighting tea lights all across the mantle of the fireplace as he enters the great room. I've spent the last fifteen minutes with my "_flick-n-go deep reach candle lighting wick stick_"- yes that's the name on the package- making sure the great room glows like it does on one of those dating shows my sister watches where the tuxedo clad idiot of the hour passes out roses to the least offensive members of his bimbo harem and kicks the rest back to Hometown, USA. Only now, I'm the tuxedo clad idiot of the hour, but I have no petals for a harem. My rose only blooms for Anastasia. Flowery, Grey...

"Your gynecologist, sir?" he asks, whispering _gynecologist_ like it's a dirty word. He's probably the kind of guy who still laughs when he says _penis_, thinking _pee-pee _is a less embarrassing alternative. I have no patience for anatomical shame. When I mean vagina, I say vagina. Same with penis. Unless I'm talking about pussy and cock, which is another thing entirely.

"Yes, Dr. Greene." I turn to face him, waving my flame. He backs up. Since when is Taylor afraid of a little fire? I guess my wick stick is rather lengthy, especially when the tip is ablaze. "I need her to make an early Sunday morning house call." I need to make sure no one opens a door too fast and blows these suckers out. Or worse, that my sleeve doesn't accidentally catch on fire. I want to make a toast later, I don't want to be the toast. They make it all look so effortless on _The Bachelor_.

"Does she do that, sir?" He follows me as I fire up wall sconces that have never been used. I don't know why; I guess I've never had reason for candlelight before. Wax play doesn't count.

"She does if you pay her enough." That woman could put a kid through college for what she charged me the last time. I won't cry for her if she has to take twenty minutes away from Sunday sudoku and her Bloody Mary bar to give Ana a shot and collect enough to keep her derelict husband comfortably out of work for the foreseeable future. "Tell her it's for the swimming pool fund. She'll come running."

"Yes, sir. What shall I request she perform?" What is she, Celine Dion all of a sudden? I have to request numbers?

"Her greatest hits." I roll my eyes. I'm being sarcastic, I know. Wit in its lowest form. But, sometimes it's impossible to resist.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Tell her I don't need the full service like last time, I just need an adjustment."

I light the candelabras surrounding my piano, which gives the room a gothic feel. I must hurry; Anastasia could be ready at any minute and I want her to walk down the stairs from the old submissive room into a candlelit world of romance on the precipice of our evening ahead. I want her to feel like tonight is something special, something more. I briefly wonder if I should place tea lights on the stairs, so they'll light her path down, but I'm suddenly plagued with visions of Ana's skirt catching on one and going up into flames and I decide vehemently against it.

"What should I say needs to be adjusted, sir?"

"She's the doctor, she'll figure it out!" The last thing I want to talk to Taylor about is Ana's birth control. Thoughts of the shot lead straight to thoughts with the penis, and this time he wouldn't be laughing.

"Does she do men?" What the fuck?

I un-flick my wick stick and the flame dies.

"What do you mean, sexually?" I ask, turning to him. What an odd question. "She's got three kids by that husband, so at one point, I assume she held her breath and he dove in."

"No, I thought she was only a women's physician, sir." Is he being funny or is he serious? He's so stone faced, I can never tell.

"It's not for me, it's for Anastasia!" Lord, what an idiot!

"Doesn't Andrea usually handle these appointments, Mr. Grey?"

"It's after six on a Saturday night. She gets nights off, you don't. And I need this to happen yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"Not yesterday, yesterday. Yesterday, tomorrow." Now, he's got me all confused. I suddenly realize there's a lot of smoke with these candles. It's creating a light haze around the piano. I wave my hands to try and clear it, but I think I'm just encouraging it.

"Should I call her at home?"

"Who, Andrea?"

"No, Dr. Greene."

"I don't care if you show up on her porch naked with a banjo to serenade her, just make sure she's here first thing!" Jesus. Why so much fucking conversation?

"Very well, sir."

"What's in your hand?" I point to the long, flat rectangular box he's holding.

"Your mask, Mr. Grey," he says, handing me the package. "They've adjusted the eye holes and lessened the "Zorro effect" as you put it."

I untie the bow, remove the box top and take it out.

"It's got feathers!" I say, touching the dyed black plume sticking up and out from the right eye. "What are they, crow?"

"Ostrich, sir."

"Who dyes ostrich feathers to look like crow?" I examine it, wondering if having a crow on your head is bad luck. I suppose it's okay if it's faux crow. "I thought only the women had these fancy feathers."

"Boy birds have vibrant feathers, sir," he says like he's the fucking Discovery channel. But, get him to say _bird penis_ and he'll turn all Nickelodeon potty humor on you.

"Not real birds, I mean the people at this party!"

"They say it's the rage this year." The rage? What is this, 1985?

"Who says this? The Milkie brothers?"

He nods. Somehow that doesn't reassure me. Why do I get the feeling Grandpa Theodore and I will be the only ones wearing feathers? And he'll only wear them because he can't see well without his glasses and he won't know they're there.

"It's lined in silver to match the dress you said Miss Steele selected. And..." He pulls out a clear plastic container with an elaborate wrist corsage made of orchids and silver ribbons and more feathers from a sack hanging on his arm. "Flowers to match." This really is the prom.

"Thank you, Taylor," I take the flowers and examine them. "How do I put it on?"

"The mask?"

"The corsage!" Have I been dubbed in Japanese tonight? Why is he misunderstanding everything I'm saying?

"You just slide it on, sir."

"I know that. But which way does it go? Are the feathers supposed to swing up or down?" Why the fuck are we so feather heavy tonight anyway? Is this a ball or a Hitchcock film?

He opens the box that's still in my hands and lifts the corsage out, examining it as if he's assessing how to disable a bomb.

"Here." Giving me the flowers, he holds out his wrist.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping you practice, sir."

"I'm not sliding Anastasia's corsage on you."

"Well, if you want to have a smooth time of it later, you've got to practice elsewhere, first." I'm having flashbacks of Elena teaching me how to slide condoms on using her strap-on.

"Which end is up?"

"I think the feathers are supposed to be at the top, sir."

"What's the top? The forearm or the wrist?"

"I think the elbow is considered the tip top, Mr. Grey."

"But, if she's holding her wrist up and looking at it, the wrist is on top of her arm."

"But the rest of the world sees it the other way."

"Do I look like I give a fuck about the world?"

We both stand there for a moment working it out in our minds like a mathematical equation.

"There's a bow here, sir," he points to it like he's struck gold. "The bow is always at the bottom and facing down."

"How do you know that?"

"Because it wouldn't be proper if the loops were at the bottom and the legs were on top."

"What legs?"

"The legs of the bow."

"Bows don't have legs."

"The two ends, sir."

I think about that for second. What the fuck are we talking about? Has Taylor always been this fucking weird or is it just since I've met Ana and we're discussing things beyond getting my dry cleaning and buying Audis that his real wacko side comes out?

"But, which is the bottom?!" I burst out. Jesus, all this talk of tops and bottoms you'd think there'd be some cats and canes involved.

That's it! An idea comes to mind...

"Wait, I know which way Anastasia's corsage is supposed to go." I stretch the elastic band to slide it over his fingers. Christ, he's got such gargantuan knuckles, I almost want to alert science to the presence of the missing link.

"Ouch!"

"What's wrong?"

"Elastic on knuckle hair, sir."

I finally make my way over the hump of his hand, to his wrist and admire my flowers.

"Perfect!"

"But, you put the bottom on the top, sir," he says, examining my bow.

"I know." It's a topping from the bottom corsage. Perfect for Anastasia, I smile. Swiftly, I take it off his wrist, put it back in the container and set it on the kitchen island.

I put on my mask. He's right, the Zorro aspect has been lessened, and now instead of looking like the masked swordsman, I look like Liberace playing the masked swordsman in a themed show. Appropriate that the candelabras are lit and smoking around my piano.

Piano... Music... Candelabras... Suddenly a flash of my dream comes to mind. I shake my head to rid myself of the thoughts.

"The mask looks very nice, Mr. Grey."

"You think?" I adjust the plume so it's less, for lack of a better word, erect.

"It's quite handsome."

"Thank you, Taylor."

"Dramatic. With the smoke and candles, you look like the Phantom of the Opera."

"No, I fucking do not!" I yell, turning to face him, my feathers fluffed.

"No, sir." At least he looks like he got the message loud and clear.

I turn down the lights to see the finished product of my "Bachelorization"- a sea of candles illuminating the dark of night. The way they reflect in the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city makes them appear more than their fifty-seven in number. Or maybe I just see everything as more now. I've certainly never seen this place so alive before.

"Taylor, tell me. Do you feel romantic right now?"

He takes in the room slowly, then looks to me.

"I feel like I should have my fire hose handy, sir."

"Oh come on, this does nothing for you?"

"It makes me fear for your safety. There are so many." He looks like he's watching a forest fire blaze out of control.

"There aren't that many! Haven't you ever seen The Bachelor?"

"No, sir." He looks at my like I've grown a vagina, or in his mind a _girl garden._

"Well, neither have I!" I cover with too much protest. He's no help. He's about as romantic as a frog is to a fly. One flick of the tongue and he swallows her whole. Poor Gail. "Get the men, I want to go over the security detail for tonight."

"Right away, sir."

"Oh and one more thing."

He turns around, expectantly.

"We'll need all new furniture in the upstairs bedroom."

"Is something wrong?"

"Anastasia and I broke the bed." Emphasis on the _Anastasia_ and the _I_ and the breaking of _it_ together.

"Do you want me to try and fix it?"

"No, Taylor. I don't."

I see a hint of a smile cross his face.

"Very well, sir."

"And, here," I say, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the handkerchief he gave Ana to dry her tears on after she left me. It still boils my blood to think he was comforting my girl when she was hurting because of me. So, I swiped it from her place earlier. "Anastasia won't be needing your handkerchief anymore, she's got mine." I place it in his hand.

He nods, a little too disappointed for my tastes, and leaves.

I take off my mask and set it down by the corsage. I check my pockets; Blackberry, breath mints, a handkerchief of my own for her to blow her nose in and two condoms. I pop a breath mint and rub the condoms for luck. I hope the silver balls are driving her as wild right now as they are me just thinking about them.

My phone rings, interrupting thoughts of my balls. It's Grace.

"Yes, Mom?" I answer, apprehensive that there's a problem. She's usually neck deep in preparations now, without a second to waste on a call to me.

"Is Anastasia a fowl person?" she asks, bluntly.

"She's a lovely person!" I say, with rapid fire defense of my girl.

My mother laughs.

"No. Does she like duck?" For a split second I thought she said something else.

"Duck?"

"Duck."

"This is why you called?"

"It's on the menu tonight, but if she doesn't like it I can have something else prepared." Is this my mother speaking? The woman who refused to change the menu for Bill Gates when Melinda had him on that raw diet during their Hollywood phase. In the midst of Grace's kitchen chaos, she'll whip anything Ana wants up? Oh I get it, "Operation make Ana happy at all costs so she won't leave Christian and make him an old man-maid" is in full effect. Don't worry Mom, I'm in on it, too.

"We haven't had that conversation at this point in our relationship, but I'm sure it's fine."

"Relationship?" I can hear the tickle of glee in her voice.

"That's what I said." I suddenly have to urge to put on my mask again and hide.

"That's what I thought you said." I'm sure her smile is as far and wide as the Americas right now.

"Yes, Mom. Anything else?" She sounds like she's beating around the bush about something. Or the duck.

"How do you want me to introduce her?"

"Miss Anastasia Steele-"

"No, you know what I mean."

Gulp. I take a deep breath. I do know what she means.

"Well,..." This is it. The big one. No going back now. "I suppose as way of clarity and brevity of introduction, and so not to confuse any unfamiliar audience-" What the fuck am I saying? I think I used that line in my presentation to the Taiwanese. Cut to the chase, Grey. "She's my... girlfriend."

Well, it's official. I've passed the torch to my mother and now she's going to run with it.

"Oh honey," her voice cracks with emotion. She's crying! Why is she crying? Because I finally got a girlfriend? "I'm so happy for you."

"Okay, Mom. I have to go. We'll see you shortly."

"We," she sniffles with pride.

"Goodbye, Mom."

We hang up. Why was that so uncomfortable and terrifying and strangely liberating all at once? Probably because it's the most vulnerable thing I've ever shared with Grace. Ana is my girlfriend, my first and only, and tonight the whole world will know. I'm just afraid I'm not a good enough man to live up to the title.

Careful not to trip in the candlelit dark, I make my way to the sound system and decide some music for the mood is in order. I contemplate Marvin Gaye, but think that's too much. Plus, I don't want Taylor and the men listening to _Let's Get It On _while Ana's dressed in that slinky silver number around all these candles. Sinatra? No, we've done that. I think about the score from _Love Story_, but that's too tacky and she dies tragically at the end. A cold shiver runs up my spine and I immediately erase it from my iPod forever. That and the entire soundtrack from _Phantom_. If I ever hear the _Music of the Night_ again it will be too soon. Soft classical will have to do.

"Grey," Welch calls, entering the foyer with Taylor and the other two follow. "Why so dark?" He moves to turn on a light.

"Don't!" I rush over. "I want the ambiance."

"Well, if I break my neck, you'll get an ambulance with your damn ambiance." He huffs. "And the bill!" He's such a vulgar man. The only reason I keep him around is because he's shady and good at illegal activities.

"I'll take my chances." His broken neck is seeming more and more like a plus. "Is everything set for tonight?"

"Plan is in place. Wish you weren't doing this, but hey, I'm just advising you on security, what the hell do I know?" My thoughts exactly.

"Just remember Miss Steele is priority number one. Take measures to ensure her safety first at all times." If anything ever happened to her, I couldn't go on.

All eyes shoot up and over my shoulder at once. They all have the same look- like they've seen something magical. I turn around and discover they have.

Ana.

She's exquisite standing just at the edge of my piano; the candlelight dancing around and illuminating her hair, her skin, the silver satin of her dress as if fire's only purpose was to burn for her. Now I know why I never lit candles before; I was saving them just for this moment.

"Anastasia," I move to her, nearly tripping on the rug, but it's rather dark so I don't think she noticed. I take her hand in mine and lift it to my mouth to kiss it. "You are breathtaking."

"Whoever bought it has good taste," she teases. Caroline Acton is definitely getting a triple digit raise and that trip to Hawaii. First the lingerie, now this. I'd write her a note and thank her for all the erections and hot sex this wardrobe is giving me, but that would be highly inappropriate.

I move close to her and lean in to whisper in her ear.

"I can't wait to take this off of you later." I smile, brushing my fingers down her shoulder, knowing full well my touch went straight to the balls. Hers and mine both.

"The candles are lovely," she says taking in the room.

"Do you like them?" Did my voice just crack? I clear my throat to cover my pubescence.

She nods. I knew _The Bachelor _wouldn't steer me wrong.

"Would you like a glass of champagne before we go?" I take her hand in mine and stroke her fingers. They're soft and warm and I imagine them wrapped around my shaft, sliding up and down...

"Yes, please."

"Yes, please what?" I ask, still thinking of the up and down.

"Yes, please I'll have a glass of champagne."

"Of course."

I keep hold of her hand and momentarily wonder if we really have to go to this thing. I'd rather take her straight to my bedroom, take off that dress and make love to her all night long. But, I know how important tonight is for us and I want to show off my girlfriend. Plus, I'm looking forward to taking off that dress in my old bedroom later.

"Do you want me to get it?" she asks, staring at her hand still in mine.

Shit, I'm still standing here in a lovesick daze, holding her hand.

"No, of course not. I'll get it." I kiss her fingers and reluctantly let her go.

I walk toward the kitchen, realizing Taylor and the men are still watching us. Christ, they're practically drooling. Especially Welch. He's like a bulldog who just got a whiff of prime rib. Everyone knows his wife is ground chuck. I give them a hand signal to make themselves scarce. Hand signal meaning one flick of a finger away from flipping them the fuck off. Taylor pulls the men into the foyer before I lose my cool.

"Security detail?" Ana asks, watching them scurry away.

"Close protection." But, they better not get too close. I look to make sure they're not peeping like a bunch of tom turkeys around the corner or I'll make this Thanksgiving day immediately. "They're under Taylor's control. He's trained, too."

"He's versatile." Versatile? What the fuck does that mean? What does Anastasia know about Taylor's versatility? What, because he can fit meat into a freezer like a Jenga puzzle and drives fast, he's versatile? I'm the one that's versatile in this duo! Taylor doesn't know anything about silver balls. I don't even think he really knows about his own.

"Bollinger?" I ask, shaking my head to rid myself of thoughts of Taylor being versatile with Ana, and make my way to the fridge. I open the door and whisk out our favorite.

"Do you always have that one on hand?" She points to the bottle I'm holding.

"For the most part," I say, casually. Yeah, right. I had Mrs. Jones hunt down this bottle all over town for tonight and practically fight another women who was trying to snag the last one at the last place. I had to talk Gail through the altercation via cell phone and give the woman double the price and an autographed GEH t-shirt to let it go. It's a popular year. I just bought it originally because it was pink and looked like Ana's bottom would after a hiding. Now, I'm going to have to order caseloads for future occasions because it's ours and looks like the blush across her face when she smiles. I smile; I've never thought about wine in the future before. "Do you like this selection?"

"I love it. It reminds me of our tea cups," she blushes and she's almost the color of it.

"Me, too," I smile, grabbing two glasses. I make quick work of popping the cork and pouring the the bubbling blush into our flutes.

"A toast."

I hand her a glass and she runs her fingers along the woven crystal stem.

"To a night filled with... More."

She smiles, her eyes misting as I clink my glass to hers. I'm making all the ladies in my life cry tonight. If Mia turns on the waterworks later, I'm three for three.

"You're my first date," I whisper, conspiratorially as I sip.

"You're kind of mine, too."

"Kind of?"

"Well, I went to prom..."

"Oh, that's right, I still want to kill that fucker."

"Don't worry. You're my first real date." She sips, wrapping those luscious lips around the crystal edge. My pants suddenly get tight when she swallows. "You're my first real everything, Mr. Grey."

I'm feeling weak in the knees. She does that to me. Don't collapse, Grey. A girl doesn't want to make love to a man that collapses at her feet.

"We're giving each other a lot of firsts." I look from her sparkling eyes to her dazzling breasts. The cleavage is so mountainous in that dress, I want to give her a titty fuck first right over the dining table. But, I resist.

She smiles and I run my hand through her hair and pull her to me, giving her a deep kiss.

"How are you feeling, incidentally?" I whisper against her mouth. She tastes so sweet, I don't want to stop kissing her, so I don't.

"I'm fine," she mumbles against my lips. "The champagne is delicious."

Stilling my lips on hers, I look at her. She smirks against my mouth. Tease. She knows full well l I'm talking about the balls.

"Is that what tastes so good?" I ask, moving my tongue between her parted lips to taste her some more.

"Don't we have a ball to go to?" she asks, breathy as she moves her fingers through my hair. Why does it feel so good when she pulls?

One more kiss with a bottom lip biting end and I reluctantly pull away. I place my forehead to hers and take a deep breath, willing my erection to cool his jets. He's a sportsman, that one; always up for a love match.

"Yes." I pick up a velvet pouch on the kitchen island and hand it to her. "You'll need this."

She opens it and pulls out the silver mask with dark feathers I selected for her earlier.

"What is this?" She brushes the feathers with her long, slim fingers. A diamond would look lovely on that hand. A large diamond... A very large diamond... Control yourself, Grey!

"It's a masquerade ball."

"I see."

I touch the silver ribbon.

"This will bring out your beautiful eyes."

She smiles shyly and I slide my fingers over the feathers to touch her hand.

"Are you going to wear one?" she asks as I stroke her soft skin.

"Of course, I am." Unfortunately. But, being masked does have its benefits. Especially when we fuck. "They're quite liberating."

"How?" she asks, crinkling her nose. She's so cute, I just want to pinch it or nip it or take her over this kitchen island, rip off her panties and eat her out till she cries out my name in ecstasy...

"No one knows who or what's behind them." I raise my brow. I can see she's curious. Good girl. Tonight will be fun. "Oh and I have this for you." I pick up the corsage from the island.

"Flowers, Mr. Grey? Quite romantic."

"I always bring my dates flowers."

"I thought I was your first," she frowns.

"Exactly."

I take the corsage out and slide it onto her wrist. It's much easier to get on without all the hair and ape knuckles.

"Do you like them?" I ask, straightening and situating the flowers and feathers in place.

"I love them. They're gorgeous."

I let go and the arrangement slips down on her wrist a fraction.

"Is it too big?"

"It's just a little loose." Fucking Taylor stretched it out with his ape paws. I should have never slid it on a wrist the size of a beast thigh. "Oh, and I think it's upside down."

"No, it's not."

"But, the bow," she says pointing to the upside down ends.

"I like the bottom on the top for a change."

She gives me a quizzical look and I just smile. She really has no idea.

"Come," I say, holding out my hand. "Let me show you something." She threads her fingers in mine and holding tight to her, I lead her up the stairs and down the hall.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see. What do they say, curiosity killed the cat?"

"I thought you liked a curious cat." She gives me a look that goes straight to my groin.

"Behave."

She giggles, then suddenly grows serious as I bring her to a halt in front of the library door.

"What's wrong?" I ask, brushing her knuckles with my thumb.

"The last time you brought me to a room-"

I put a finger to her lips.

"No, this I know you're going to like."

I open the door, watching as her eyes widen and her face brightens, taking it all in. She looks up at the vast, lofty bookcases full of first editions like a little girl seeing Christmas for the first time.

"You have a library," she squeals.

"My other playroom."

"The books!"

She rushes over to the cases, looking up at shelves more than twice her height with wide blue eyes as she runs her fingers along the spines of the greats. I notice the Hemingway book is still out, so I casually move it out of view, under a pillow on the couch behind me. I don't want her to look in there and find my declaration of love. Well, at least not until I have the courage to say it to her myself.

"Oh, Christian, these are amazing!" She steps up on the sliding ladder to get a better look. I fear she may fall, but I bite my tongue so as not to spoil her fun. Besides, I'll be ready to catch her if she ever does.

"They're yours," I say, smiling as she pulls out Madame Bovary and opens it, touching the lettering on the aged ivory pages.

"Mine?" She looks up, furrowing her brow.

"I mean, yours to enjoy as much as you want." Forever... Don't be weird, Grey and tell her you built it for her like the Field of Dreams. And this is definitely not the time to mention the house and the new, bigger library you're going to build her that will be like a mini Smithsonian. "I can't believe I didn't show you this before."

"All first editions?"

"I'm a collector."

"And you play pool?" she asks, coming off the ladder too fast for my liking and walking by the billiard table, touching the baize.

"Elliot calls this the balls room."

"I could see that," she laughs.

"I may have to challenge you to a game, Miss Steele," I say, leaning over her shoulder and seductively whispering in her ear.

"Bring it on, Mr. Grey." I'm not sure if she's talking about the game or my mouth on her lobe.

"Do you play?" I ask, brushing her hair off her neck and shoulder, and placing my lips on her nape.

"Oh, here and there," she giggles.

She may play, but I'm sure not well. She's leading me on.

"You're hiding something, Miss Steele," I tease, my teeth nipping at her shoulder. "Maybe Flynn will get it out of you. You'll meet him tonight."

"The expensive charlatan?"

I move my hands down and around her waist and pull her back into me.

"The very same. He's looking forward to seeing you."

"I don't know what he'll uncover. I just enjoy a good game, Mr. Grey."

"I do as well, Anastasia. And when I play," I say, running my lips up her neck and along her ear. "I always play to win." I give her quick nip and she squeals.

Suddenly I hear an alarm going off. I let her go and she turns to me.

"What's that?" she asks, panicked.

"I'm not sure, I think it's coming from downstairs."

"Did someone get into your place?" I know that someone she's referring to is Leila.

Taking Ana's hand, we rush downstairs to have a look. It's not Leila. It's the fire alarm and Taylor's taking out the candles with the mini extinguisher from the kitchen one by one.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask, watching in horror as my candelabras are covered in white foam.

"The smoke alarms went off, sir. I'm just following procedure." That's just an excuse. The fucker's been wanting to do this all evening.

"Just bring the car around and have this mess cleaned up while we're gone," I say, watching the candle carnage before me.

I look to Anastasia, thoroughly embarrassed by how this night has started off.

"I loved the candles, Christian," she says, tightening her fingers around mine, surely sensing my utter defeat.

"I'm sorry about all this."

She leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

"Are you kidding me, this is a much better story for the future."

"The future?" I ask, testing the words. "What do you mean?"

"We broke the bed and set off the fire alarms all in one evening."

"Good point well made, Miss Steele."

I smile, she's right. Maybe we'll laugh about this over teacups of Bollinger one day at the new house.

"Come, let's go."

I lead her to the elevator and press the button to take us down.

#######

The sky is dark as we drive north on the highway toward my parent's home. More dark from cloud coverage than from sunset. The days are longer now as we move deeper toward summer, but no matter the season, Seattle and I can't seem to escape the clouds.

"Where'd you get the lipstick, by the way?" Ana asks as I hold her hand and stroke her fingers as we ride in the back of the Audi.

"Taylor," I mouth, motioning my head toward the front seat.

She spits a laugh. "Oh." Then, abruptly she stops the giggle fit and adjusts her position in the seat, biting her lip less in a come-on to me and more in search of relief. I give her a wicked grin in return. The balls are working their frustrating magic. Maybe I can help work the magic some more.

"Relax," I lean in, whispering in her ear. "If they're too much, you can always take them out."

I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss each knuckle, paying special time and attention to the dip of skin between. I then take her pinkie finger and gently suck the tip. She closes her eyes and leans her head back, her breath quickening. She's obviously aroused and fantasizing about something. She moves her free hand over her thigh and I momentarily wonder if she's about to spontaneously combust in orgasm. Although I'd love to witness such a thing, I don't want Taylor to see any of Ana's pleasure, so I halt the sucking of her finger and hold her hand on my lap.

Before I can say anything, she opens her eyes are regards me intently. She licks her lips as she looks me up and down from my mouth to my collar down to her hand brushing over my erection on my lap. Fuck, these balls have made her a savage; I like it.

"What can I expect tonight?" she asks, smacking her lips, her eyes back focused on mine.

"Oh, the usual stuff..." Me fucking your brains out. You crying out in vain for mercy. Us leaving early for an all nighter at home. No, that's not what she's asking. At least I don't think...

"Not usual to me."

Of course she's never been to anything like this before. I smile and kiss her hand.

"Lots of people flashing their cash. Auction, raffle, dinner, dancing—my mother knows how to throw a party." I smile and she smiles in return. I think she's looking forward to this. I know I am.

She gasps, looking out the window as we pull up to the event. Grace has gone all out. It looks like a fairytale come to life, complete with blush lit canopies and a long lavendar carpet with lanterns lighting the path up to an ice sculpture of a swan that precedes the entrance to what looks like a glass slipper ball. And although every year is sensational, it's never quite like this. And in the tiniest part of my brain I wonder if she's made it like Cinderella's castle for Ana's benefit. What girl wouldn't want to walk arm-in-arm with her prince into a fairytale?

"Masks on, Miss Steele," I say with a conspiratorial wink.

I pull out my mask from its pouch and secure it on my face. She does the same; her blue eyes shimmering behind the dark feathers. She's glorious and I say a silent _thank you _to whoever's listening upstairs that she's mine again.

"Ready?" I ask, as Taylor pulls up the drive and stops out front.

"Always, Mr. Grey." She smiles, and this time purposely bites that lip.

"Oh, Miss Steele. What am I going to do with you?"

"Anything you want, Sir."

I audibly gasp, but before I can react, the valet opens her door and she steps out. Well played, Miss Steele. I follow and we head, arm-in-arm, under the canopy and into the ball.


	25. Chapter 25

**_Here is the beginning of the ball. Thank you for your patience and generous reviews. So happy you enjoy! And Christmas is coming for the Greys! Keep an eye out for that one. xo_**

Nat King Cole croons _Stardust_ as we make our way, arm-in-arm, beneath a blush canopy, leaving the night sky behind to walk together ahead into the sparkling unknown. I've heard this song many times; it's a favorite of Grace's. She and my father would dance to it on late Saturday nights when they thought we were in bed, but we were really watching from the staircase. The days of spying from the banister are long gone, but the song remains with me. I could never understand why they danced so lovingly to such a sad piece. Although I enjoyed the melody, I always thought this guy was a pathetic sap who needed to get his shit together and move on. I could never fathom being that man, until I was him when Ana left me.

"The music is lovely," Ana says, holding close to my arm. I've only ever taken the walk beneath this canopy alone. It's nice to take it with her.

"Rather depressing for a welcome piece, but yes."

"I don't think it's so depressing," Ana says. "More bittersweet."

"Oh yeah, where's the sweet?"

"Aren't you the one who said pleasure and pain are two sides of the same coin?"

"Are you using my words against me, Miss Steele?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey," Ana says.

"I don't know. The girl... She left him..." My words catch in my throat, remembering when Ana did the same.

"But, she left him with stardust."

"Fair point well made." I smile.

I've never thought about the sweet in sad before. Maybe that's why my parents danced and why I find comfort in the dark at my piano. Maybe that's why weeping for her when she left was better than feeling nothing at all. And maybe that's the reason I laid my life at her feet for a chance to start again. There's a sweetness in the sadness of stardust. Though, I'll move heaven and earth not to feel that sadness again.

"Have I told you how lovely you are?" I ask, bringing the back of her hand to my lips and kissing it.

"About every fifteen minutes," she smiles.

"That long? I should be ashamed!" I smile back. "I'll up my game."

One foot in front of the other, Grey. I watch my steps as I escort Ana up the twinkle-lit path toward the front door of my youth. I don't want to trip on her train and make an ass of myself on my first big date—Chance from YouTube warned about the pitfalls of foot-on-skirt disasters, especially on low-lit paths and high stairs. And if that little shit can walk right in ball-squeezing skinny jeans, then damn it so can I.

The door remains as it was, even in the midst of this fairytale. Though somehow it seems brighter and more distinguished now in the twinkle of ivory lights and framed by drapes of lavender. I've walked through that door more times than I can count. It's seen the pain of a small boy who sought to hide away behind the strength of its wood. The fury of a troubled young man who slammed it more times than his parents ever deserved. But I, nor the wood I'm sure, could have ever imagined I'd return to it with a girl on my arm and a smile on my face, planning for a future I can only see with her. What do they say?—maybe you can come home again... I gaze at Ana. Or maybe I've just found home for the first time.

"What are you thinking about, Mr. Grey?" Ana asks, looking up at me; her blue eyes shimmering behind the mask. I so want to stop and kiss her in the glow of soft lavender, but I resist.

"Sneaking away with you later," I whisper in her ear and kiss her head, instead. The meadow scent of the shampoo that costs more than most college tuitions still fresh in her hair.

She giggles as we step inside, and although I'm not a superstitious man, I give the wood a little knock as we pass.

I remember Taylor and the others are tailing us. I just hope they're not getting too good a gander at Ana's. I turn around to look and Taylor gives me a thumbs up. I'm about to let him have it, but I realize he's referring to security matters going according to plan and not the greatness of Ana's assets.

"I feel like Cinderella," Ana says, taking in the ice sculptures and color-lit fountains; the music of the string quartet; and the line full of tuxedos and ball gowns that cover the lawn ahead. Over the years this ball has become a bore to me, but seeing it through Ana's eyes is like seeing everything for the first time. And like her, it's enchanting.

"Cinderella has nothing on you," I look to her and she dips her eyes, bashful, as she smiles. "Besides, you're not leaving in a pumpkin at midnight with a bunch of rats dressed up like horses. You're coming home with me." I survey the crowd surrounding us to make sure no rats dressed up like horses are getting any ideas about midnight with my princess and her pumpkins.

"What if you discover your glass slipper doesn't fit my foot?" she asks with an air of humor, but I don't think she's completely teasing. Is she feeling self conscious in all this grandeur? Doesn't she know she's the most stunning thing that's ever stepped into this place—or this life?

"It's impossible. My slipper was only ever made for you." I wink.

"And if it was lost and you couldn't find me?"

"Oh, Miss Steele, I'd build a factory to make nothing but glass slippers, only for your foot. And you should know by now, I'd always be able to find you." I give her a wicked grin.

"Stalker," she mouths and we both laugh.

"Can I have a shot?" some idiot asks, interrupting our slipper-stalker moment. I briefly wonder if he's mistaken me for one of the penguin-suited set that passes out drinks on silver trays and he's asking me for Patron or Grey Goose, but then I see the camera around his neck and his press pass. Normally I'd be annoyed by such requests, but this is my big moment to show the world my girl.

"Of course," I pull Ana close to my side and he flashes a few off fast. That's probably how he performs most activities in his life. But, I don't spend too long pondering that observance.

"Your name?" he asks Ana.

She's about to answer, but I jump in to make sure he gets it right.

"This is my girlfriend. Anastasia Rose Steele. With an _e_ on the end."

"_E_ on the end of Rose?"

"Steele!"

"Not Rose?"

"Rose, too!"

"So, two _e's_?"

"Yes, but not together."

"Are Rose and Steele hyphenated?"

"No! Three separate words." Jesus, I don't want the Seattle Times to print that! Everyone will think she's a married feminist and no one will believe she's my girlfriend.

"Got it. Anastasia Rose—no hyphen—Steele." What a fucking idiot.

"_Girlfriend_. You got that too, right?"

"Yeah." He gives me a flippant nod and walks away to snap a few of the mayor, probably before he's intoxicated and his people are shielding him from press. I'm sure they don't want a repeat of the Gates 2008 New Years party disaster where he gave golden showers to two bimbos in the hot tub, wearing Bill's speedo. I don't know what was more disturbing— the golden showers in the hot tub or the fact that Bill Gates wears a speedo. Needless to say, he wasn't invited back. I still don't know how he was reelected.

"Make sure you print that!" I call after him. That fucker better print _girlfriend_ or I may have to buy the Seattle Times and do it myself.

Another house photo guy approaches us. But, he's quite older, much slower and smells of tobacco he's tried to cover up with a strong mint. Either that or an aggressive arthritis rub.

"Pose against the ivy!" he says, pointing to a wall set up for photos and we follow.

"Two photographers?" Ana whispers to me. I think she's surprised more exist out there than Jose.

"Yes, the last one was for the Seattle Times and this one is a souvenir we can purchase."

"This really is like prom!"

"Did you take a picture with that fucker, too?!"

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Does that mean she did or she didn't? I don't like the idea of some undeserving asshat in a picture with her, floating around out there. I wonder if Welch can dig it up...

We're led to a wall of ivy with floral lettering that reads: _Coping Together. _I don't think Grace fully thought that one out. Couples are supposed to pose by that? Instead of a charity ball, it makes it look like an announcement that there's something harrowing that they have to work through in their relationships. People certainly won't be ordering these shots for their Christmas cards. Luckily, I don't care about Christmas; I just want a shot with Ana on our first real date.

I put an arm around Ana's waist and hold her close as we both look expectantly at the camera. Whatever we're expecting doesn't happen. It takes the photo guy about the length of Grandpa Theo's life so far to set up the shot and nearly blinds us when he finally surprises us with a flash that for a split second makes me fear we've all been taken out by a bomb.

"Okay, done!" he says and waves us along.

"What do you mean done?" I ask. "I didn't even have my eyes open!"

"Yeah, you did."

He shows me the screen on the back of his camera. He's correct, they're open alright.

"I look like I just witnessed the Kennedy assassination!" Either that or someone stuck a firecracker up my ass and it just went off. "Do it again!"

"I only have time for one. You're holding up the line."

"It look you a half-hour to take one picture that I look like hell in!" Ana always looks beautiful.

"Exactly. I took extra time with you to perfect my shot. I can't help how you pose."

"You think I purposely posed with my eyes popping out of my head and my hand to my ear in mid scratch."

"I don't know."

"You don't know much!"

"Christian, it's okay," Ana says.

"No, Anastasia. I want you to have a commemorative photo you can be proud of." I'm not letting the only formal shot she has out there be her and that prom date who sucked her face. And I'm sure it's better than this shit. High school's thrive on prom memorabilia.

I throw my black Amex on the table. "Make the time!"

Fourteen shots later and a promise that I'll get a final approval on Photoshopping, we have our souvenir picture. I feel like we lived up to the words on the wall by coping together through that fucking nightmare.

I place an arm around Ana's waist and lead us inside, where the waddle of penguins serves champagne on trays. I pick one up for Ana and one for myself.

"This is for my girlfriend," I say to a penguin, pointing to the extra glass and then to Ana. "She's with me." He nods, looking at me like I'm odd. I don't care what he thinks, I'm just so proud to say it. I feel like telling everyone.

"It's pink," she giggles as I hand her the champagne and her cheeks dust the color of it.

"It knew you'd be coming."

"Oh I hope so, Mr. Grey." She bites her lip and raises a brow.

"Behave, Miss Steele." The effect of her balls goes straight to mine.

She starts to bring the crystal to her lips and I brush her wrist with my fingers to prevent her sip.

"I'd like to propose a toast." I hold up my glass.

"To what?" She holds up hers.

"To an evening under the stars filled with... more."

She smiles as our glasses kiss and we both sip the sparkling wine that tastes sweeter than I ever remember.

It's as if a freak show has come to town when we arrive on the main floor—I'm the freak and she's the show. Heads turn and necks crane to get a look at the woman on the ever-solo Christian Grey's arm. One girl I think I went to middle school with just knocked into a waiter, trying to get a gander, and ended up with a bust-full of Bordeaux. But, if it's the same girl I remember from Phys Ed, there's not much of a mess to clean up.

"How many people are here?" She looks surprised—much like the night I stole her virtue—by the size and scope of the event.

"Three hundred or so, you'd have to ask my mother." Although I could do without two hundred and ninety-eight about now.

Asshole upon asshole line the floor, mooning—pun definitely intended— over my girl as we walk by. Yeah, fuckers, watch and weep. While you dated every two-bit whore and no-face Nancy, I was waiting for the best! I thought my brawling days were behind me, but watching these men salivate over my Ana makes me think they're plentifully ahead.

"Christian!" I turn to see Bent Richards, that fucker I rowed with in high school, coming my way. His real name is Bentley Richards, but everyone shortened it to Bent Dicks after he lost his virginity to Beth Somers and she passed around photos she snapped of his leaning tower of penis, post breakup. He let the name stick, because it was a reminder to everyone that he had actually been laid.

"Bent," I say, pulling Ana in closer to my side.

"Haven't seen you in ages on the course!" He mocks a swing of his club through the air. Oh yes, golf. I try to avoid him on the green. "Afraid I'll embarrass you out there?" he snickers.

"Yes," I say, eying the douche up and down. What am I saying?— a douche actually goes up a vagina. He's more like a piss can. "Besides, I've been busy... With my _girlfriend_." I cock my head toward Ana. She starts to reach out a hand for him to shake, but I reach down and hold it before she can make goddess-on-gremlin contact.

"I can see. So, the rumors are true. Grey actually has a girl." He runs his eyes over her so hard, I'm surprised they don't roll out of his head and end up in California. He probably hasn't been laid since Beth Somers. I still have bitter memories of him trying to get his hands on my oar. He was always jealous I was the stroke and he was the bow. He still wants what's mine.

"And you still don't."

He guffaws like I was joking. Now I remember why I really hated him— he laughs like a donkey who thinks he's a unicorn.

"Aren't you going to introduce me, Grey?" It takes all my willpower not to introduce my fist to his face.

"No." I whisk Ana away. He's still laughing like a magical jackass.

"That was rather rude," she says.

"Trust me, you don't want Bent Dicks in your life." That sounded wrong, but the point was made. On both fronts.

"You're here!" Mia shouts, rushing to us on lengthy stems. Her dress is so ruffled and pink, I wonder if Barbie will sue for stealing the design. She is lovely, though. I'm curious to see who she brought tonight. I hope it's not that fucker Sean.

"Yes, we made it." I motion to Ana.

"Oh Christian, I'm so happy! She's still with you!" Mia wraps her arms around my neck like I'm a man who's survived cancer, the plague and diphtheria, simultaneously, and just finished the three subsequent races for their cures. For fuck's sake! It's only been like two weeks since she's seen Ana! Oh that's right, we were broken up for six of those days. I'm glad Mia doesn't know.

"Mia, please."

"And Ana!" She turns and sweeps her into a quick but meaty hug and nails my toe with her heel in the process. I know there will be blood. "You look so gorgeous! You have to meet my friends. None of them can believe Christian actually has a girlfriend!" Jesus, must she make me sound like such a loser in front of Ana? I mean, I know Ana knows all of this, but Mia doesn't know she knows. Have some decorum!

"She doesn't want to meet those-" Before I can finish my sentence, she's dragged Ana over to that gabbing gaggle. Although I would rather Ana have nothing to do with them, it does delight me that they'll all meet my girl. Hopefully, they'll all leave me alone once and for all.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a man who's painfully obviously in love..." A British accent claims my attention. I turn my head to see Flynn, who's amusing himself by watching me watch her.

"I'm sure you get much enjoyment seeing me like this."

"Actually, I do." He looks in the direction my eyes were just facing. "Which one is Miss Steele?"

"The drop dead gorgeous one!" Isn't it fucking obvious?

"There are a few girls over there..."

"None like Ana!" There's no one like her, anywhere, ever.

I watch Ana as she talks to Mia's friends. They're all minions compared to her—she's a goddess. The only good thing about her being this distance from me is that I can admire from afar the way her hair cascades down her back; how her dress hugs to her curves; the glow of her milky skin shimmering in the candlelight. "She's the perfect one in silver." I sigh.

"I think I found the man I was looking for. And he's even worse off than previously diagnosed." He laughs. I think he's right. And something about that makes me smile.

Oh god. Ana's talking to Lily. The smile immediately leaves my mug. She's the worst of them! That girl has had a crush on me since she was in the fourth grade. And when I came into money, it only intensified. Batting her spider lashes, thrusting her non existent chest all over creation in my presence, flashing those overly bleached snaggleteeth that look like they eat dicks dipped in Clorox for dinner. She's the kind of girl who would be attractive if it weren't for her face, her body and her soul.

"Excuse me, Flynn. I need to rescue my girl.

I take off.

"Ladies, please excuse me, but I'd like to reclaim my date." I snake my arm around Ana's waist, pulling her close. "I'm so happy you've met my _girlfriend_." I give the eye to Lily, who snarls a smile and I'm nearly blinded for the second time tonight.

"Nice meeting you!" Ana waves to the girls and the piranha as I pull her away. "Thank you," she mouths to me when we're at a distance.

"I saw Lily was over there. She is one nasty piece of work."

"I think she likes you."

"The feeling is definitely not mutual. Come, let me introduce you to some people."

#######

"This is my _girlfriend_," I say as Ana shakes the hand of this Hollywood dipshit standing in front of us. His eyes are feasting on Ana and he won't stop shaking her hand. Who does this fucking loser think he is?

"So nice to meet you, Mr. Depp," Ana says, with her hand still in his. Still!

I peel her fingers from his sex-clamp and put her hand in mine—where it belongs.

"She's my girlfriend," I say again and he ignores me. Isn't he with someone? Of course, she's nothing next to Anastasia, but has he no shame?!

"Are you an actress?" he asks, with some put-on, indeterminable European type accent. It's like the Queen's British mixed with Milwaukee. He's obviously intoxicated already and it's only seven o'clock. Hopefully he's awake for the auction. Maybe he'll buy those beauty treatments from Elena. Lord knows he needs it for the bags under his eyes.

"No, I can't act," she says. Is she blushing. For him?! My blood is boiling.

"You know I've got a part in my film—"

"She only does movies for me!" I say, dragging her away.

"Wow, I can't wait to tell Kate about that!"

I roll my eyes. I decide to introduce her to an anesthesiologist next. Old doctors are better for my heart. And, I don't think she'll be eager to tell Kavanagh about an aging bald guy who gets excited about knocking people out for knee surgeries.

Kavanagh... I take a deep, cleansing breath, filling my lungs with snark-free air. Oh, how nice it is to be without her and my brother tonight.

One of the penguin contingency passes by and Ana grabs another champagne off they tray. I'll need to get food in her soon, or I'll be holding her hair over my mother's rosebush later.

"Who's this?" Marty Eccles asks, slopping over to me and Ana. "I never thought I'd see a girl on your arm, Grey." Although he looks like he just crawled here from a local bar, I know that's just how he is. Every time I see him, his shirt is half untucked and he has a stain in an odd area. When he puts on a tux, it's even worse. He looks like a seal about to perform for the philharmonic on two hours of sleep and a bottle of Jack.

"This is my girlfriend, Anastasia." Asshole. I keep hold of her hand, so there's no risk of another sex infused shaking incident.

"What do you do, Anastasia?"

"I work in publishing at SIP."

"Ooooooh. I heard they're in for a hostile takeover." He gives me an overdone conspiratorial wink.

"Oh, I'm just a lowly employee. I wouldn't know." She answers perfectly.

"Trust me, she'll be running the company one day." I say. It's true, she's the smartest girl I know. She could run circles around Jack Hyde. But, I'm sure he'd like that. I'll deal with that fucker later; I have enough fuckers to deal with tonight.

"Cute mask, Grey. Is it like Zorro cabaret?" He points at my feathers. Fucker.

"Excuse us, Marty." I pull Ana away. I've had to extract Ana from so many situations tonight, I feel like a dentist. It's similar; we both pull to spare the pain of rot.

The lights flicker, alerting us that we're supposed to take our seats. I guide Ana to our table. My mother is standing at attention next to her chair, ready to greet us. She smiling too broadly and standing too stiff. She's either extremely nervous to make everything perfect for Ana, or she's been hit by an epic round of gas and she's trying to keep from erupting on the crowd.

"Mother," I lean in and kiss her cheek.

"Oh, Christian! So formal!" she giggles like a school girl. Formal? That's how I always greet her. Yeah, I'm sure it's not the gas. She's putting on for Ana.

"Grandmother, Grandfather," I say to my grandparents as they both give Ana the once over.

"Oh he's finally found someone!" My grandmother shouts so the whole place can hear. "Please, make an honest man out of him!"

Ana giggles and looks to me. I just shrug my shoulders.

"Mother, don't embarrass her!" Grace says and pulls her back like she's afraid Ana's a wild animal and might run when startled. I fear the same thing.

"Don't listen to the old coot!" My grandfather says. "Just put the pickle in the jar and be happy!"

"Dad!" Grace says. My poor mother.

My grandfather is a lively one! And I was right, he is the only other man in the room wearing feathers on his mask. I'm glad Elliot's not here, he would crucify me over my plume.

"Ana, this is Sean," Mia says, approaching us with her date. Fuck, it is Sean!

Ana shakes his hand, far too welcoming for my taste.

I don't know what Mia sees in this idiot. He's got the personality of tree frog, the greasiest hair known to man and is two inches shorter than her on a good day. Today, with her in those heels, is not that day. I think he's trying to get into her pants. I swear, if I find out he already has, I will kill him on the spot.

I give him a firm, fast shake, so he knows my hands are strong enough to ring his neck on the quick.

We all find our seats and my father takes the stage to speak about the reason for the event tonight. Although he doesn't say it, everyone knows it's me. This is always a strange point in the evening for me. I feel exposed; as if my life before the Greys is put on display. He talks about mothers and fathers and children who've made it past the evils of drug abuse and have become real families. It makes me think of the crack whore and how that didn't happen for me. And although I hate her, there's still a part of me that wonders why it couldn't have happened for us. No matter who she was, she was mine, until she wasn't anymore and I had no control over that.

I feel a brush of fingers on my hand that's resting on my knee. I look down and find Ana's hand on mine. Without a word, I intertwine my fingers with hers and give her a squeeze, then stroking my thumb in her skin. I've always sat alone during this speech, staring ahead with a blank expression, so no one could read my thoughts. But, she can. And to my surprise, it's comforting to have her hand to hold through it.

My father finishes his speech and joins us a the table, greeting Ana with hug and me with a handshake and a nod that says he's proud I'm with her. If you asked my family, they'd say Ana was the greatest accomplishment in my life. And if you asked me, I'd say they were right.

"Everyone, pick a table head," the MC says. I can't believe they got Ron Dale to do this again. Just because he makes bingo announcements at my grandparents retirement center and he's been on the radio once for witnessing an electrical fire at a diner, that doesn't make him Bob Hope. More like Bob-no hope-we'll-get-through-the-evening-without-dying-from-bad-cheese. And I'm not talking about the dairy product; I'm speaking of the entertainment value.

"Oh—me, me!" Mia says, hopping up and down in her seat. Sean's watching this. I glare at him and he cuts his eyes away from any parts on Mia that tend to fly. That's right fucker, I'm on to you and your hop-watching!

"Everyone. Attention! Attention!" MC Ron scurries around the stage, waving his arms to silence the crowd. But, there's no one talking. We're all just staring ahead watching the little man going crazy to quiet us. I think he gets off on creating intrigue and overly dramatized hand gestures.

"In the center of the table you will find an envelope," MC Ron continues his spiel. "Would everyone find, beg, borrow, or steal a bill of the highest denomination you can manage, write your name on it, and place it inside the envelope? Table heads, please guard these envelopes carefully. We will need them later." Like someone is going to swipe money going to charity? Everyone in this room is at least a millionaire and at best—me.

I pull out two hundred dollar bills from my wallet and hand one to Ana.

"I'll pay you back," she says, reluctantly taking the bill.

I give her a look that says "_when pigs fly over Alaska and bring sunshine on their backs for Eskimos in winter_." And yes, it is possible to get all that in with a look.

I pull a pen out of my pocket, write my name on the bill and then hand it to Ana.

"You carry a nice pen in your pocket," she whispers, leaning in to me.

"You should see what's in my pants." I lean closer in to her.

"I intend to."

Fuck. Me. Now. Please!

I can see my mother staring at us and smiling. Although, I don't think she can hear what we're saying, it's still embarrassing to talk about your fountain pen in front of your mother.

After a rather lengthy decision making process about where to mark her moniker, Ana writes her name sweetly on the upper right side of the monetary note. And for the briefest moment, I imagine her writing _Grey_ instead of _Steele_...

Get ahold of yourself, Grey! You've been on one half of one real date in your life and now you're planning trips down the aisle and picket fences and happily ever afters. But, Anastasia Grey does have a lovely ring to it...

Grey!

Mia passes around the envelope and we all put our bills inside. All this for that fucking gift basket they give out later. With everything leading up to it, you'd think it was filled with gold coins and Ferrari keys. All it is is nuts &amp; chews, hair are products and a gift certificate to the salon. And I don't even think it's worth enough to cover the cost of Ana's shampoo!

Thank God Elena isn't coming tonight. I don't see her, so it looks like she kept her word. That's all I need— a run in with Ana and Mrs. Robinson.

"Is it time to eat?" My grandfather asks.

"Yes, you old crab apple, hold your horses!" My grandmother says.

"I can't hold anything, I'm eighty!" He looks around. "And I usually eat at 5:30!"

I snicker at their back and forth.

"Don't laugh, young man," my grandmother says. "This will be you two in so many years." She points to Ana and me. "And you'll be scolding your own grandson for laughing at you.

_Grandson_? Ana and I as bickering grandparents? That would mean we'd have to have children, so they could have children in order for us to have grandchildren to scold. And we'd have to raise them! Like in the same house with us! I gulp. Although I can illicitly imagine a wedding, children are off the table. At least for twenty or thirty years.

"Ana, do you like duck?" My mother asks, nervously. Here she is with the duck again!

"Excuse me?" Ana asks.

"Do you like duck?"

"Of course she does, she's with my grandson!" My grandfather says and I snort a laugh. He really likes making sex jokes with me. It's like he was storing them up for all these years and he's firing them all off tonight.

"Just say yes and move on," I whisper to her.

"Yes, it's fine." Ana says.

"Oh good! It's covered in cherries," grace says.

"A duck covered in cherries. Nothing better!" My grandfather snorts a laugh and so do I. Thankfully, my mother didn't get the joke.

They've pulled back the canvas, revealing the bay and the lights of Seattle. Ana's mesmerized by the view and I'm mesmerized by mine. I could watch her all night. In fact, I intend to. I'd like to watch more of her as soon as we get through this dinner.

Silver trays are placed in front of us. It's smoked salmon on an overly brown brioche with the paltriest dot of crème fraiche. At least the fish looks fresh and Ana looks like she can't wait to dig in. I've discovered that any dish Ana wants to eat, quickly becomes my new favorite.

"Hungry?" I lean in and whisper in Ana's ear. And I'm not just talking about the fish on the plate.

"Very." She bites her lip. Oh that lip!

As I look down at my tartare, I realize it's going to be a long four courses before my hunger can truly be satisfied.

#######

"And every year Gracie makes pies with apples from my orchard just like the ones Elliot used to throw at Christian's head," my grandfather says to Ana, with a laugh. He's been talking to her all through dinner, telling her embarrassing stories from my youth. I can tell he loves her. As well he should. So do I.

"Oh yes, Ana," my mother says. "You'll have to come to Thanksgiving!"

"Mother, it's June," I say. "Isn't it a little early to plan for Thanksgiving?" For God's sake, they're going to scare her away. Next thing you know, they'll want us married and pregnant by the time fall rolls around.

"It's never too early to plan for pie," Grace says. I should frame that quote.

Lance, my mother's friend, talks my ear off about my plans for telecommunications in the third world. Although I'm passionate about it, I can't fully concentrate because I have to keep one ear and one eye open for what my embarrassingly overzealous family might be saying to Ana.

"Grey," Greg Dennison, another fuck I went to school with, says as he walks up to the table. He's got a blue and red mask that makes him look like Captain America or something. At least I'm not the only one in here who looks like a some movie house character.

"Dennison." I give him a nod that encourages departure.

"Excellent seeing you tonight." He looks over at Ana, who's being told by my grandfather about my fifth grade project on the dinosaurs in great prehistorical detail. "See you later at the auction." And then, he walks away.

Auction? I'll be here at the table when all those items are being bid on. How will I see him? And I need a spa day at Esclava like I need a hole in my head. I got that message loud and clear from Ana this morning.

"And then he asked me where the dinosaur hides his pecker!" My grandfather says to Ana, hysterically laughing. I shake my head, mortified.

"Christian," Mia says. "Sean's interested in business. He's studying to be an entrepreneur."

"You're in school?" I ask. News to me.

"No," he says. "I'm working at the YMCA." I think he's going to say more, but he doesn't.

"That's where you study?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't know they had a collegiate program now."

"I study what's going on around me."

"For what purpose?"

"I want to manage one, you know, one day." He looks away, like it's a far off dream. Over my dead body will my sister end up with some greasy schlump who manages a YMCA!

"He's really good with his muscles," Mia says.

"How do you know that?" I ask. This could be that moment of murder.

"She watches me lift."

"Lift what?" I ask.

"Weights," he says. Sometimes I swing kettle bells or jugs of water."

"And you watch this at the YMCA, Mia?"

She nods like she's proud of this.

I can't believe my sister hangs out at the YMCA with a derelict weight lifter. How do I get rid of this idiot?

"And then he was obsessed with how the postal system worked...," my grandfather continues with his informational seminar on the oddities of my youth.

"Christian," says yet another asshole from my high school who comes up to greet me. "See you later." Then, he walks off. At least he didn't linger.

Finally, my grandfather stops talking when my mother's housekeeper—that Heidi-locks girl or whatever—alerts us that dessert is being served. Ana's really giving her the ice eye. Is she honestly jealous of Heidi-locks? I've never even spoken to her. Like really, never. I just nod when she hands me food items and send her away.

"What's for dessert?" Grandpa asks.

"Candied figs, maple ice cream and a selection of cheeses." Heidi-locks says to him, but her eyes are fixed on me. Oh, please! In response, I pick up Ana's hand off her lap and bring it to my lips to kiss. Heidi-locks, thankfully, looks away.

"Who the hell serves figs and cheese for dessert?" My grandfather asks, on the verge of outrage.

"Dad!" Grace says. "Don't get so excited! We'll get you some pudding."

"Good! I love pudding! In fact, pudding is something to get excited over!"

"Thats because it's the only thing you can chew, you old geezer!" My grandmother laughs.

"I can chew ice cream!"

"I vote for vanilla," I say, and Ana nudges my leg.

"I didn't know you liked vanilla ice cream so much," my mother says.

"I didn't either..." I look at Ana. "But, it's recently become my favorite." I smile and Ana blushes.

"Ladies and gentleman!" Oh great, MC Ron is back. "It's time for the baskets to be awarded." Oh geez, the baskets.

He calls around to each table and selects someone to pull out a bill from that white envelope we've all stuffed our money into and guarded with our lives. Grace is selected for our table. She reaches in the envelope and fingers the bills.

"Mom, just pull one out," I say. The spot light's been on her for like two minutes, but she continues her fingering.

"I want to make sure I get it right."

Finally, she pulls one out. She has to pull out her glasses to read the writing, too. "What does that say?" She holds it out for Mia to read. "Sea man?"

"Sea man!" My grandfather laughs. "That's my grandson!"

"Dad!" Mom says, mortified again and still under the spotlight.

I snort a laugh and so does Ana.

"It says Sean Mann!" Mia says, clapping excitedly.

"Yessssss!" Sean says, standing fast with arms high in the air in victory.

He's so damn excited about it. The fucker barely says anything all night, but makes a fool of himself over hair care and cashews. Well, maybe he can wash that rat trap with the shampoo.

"How are you feeling?" I whisper, leaning into Ana, letting my leg brush against hers under the table. I'm getting so horny for her. I think we've waited long enough. How many hours since we had sex last? I think it's over three; maybe four.

"Uncomfortable," she says with breath so quick I know it won't be long.

"I'll escort you to the powder room." By way of my childhood bedroom.

I stand and reach for her hand and she joins me on my feet. All the other men stand, too.

"Where are you two going?" My mother asks and winks. It's almost like she's encouraging me and Ana to go off together and love it up in the boathouse or something. What happened to my proper church-going mother? What am I talking about? This is probably what she's been praying for for years.

"I'm going to show Ana to the restroom."

"No—I'll show her!" Mia bounds up, and before I know it, they're gone. So much for our secret rendezvous.

A few businessmen I know come over and we talk about the markets and some future plans for Asia. Another politician wants an endorsement; I basically tell him he can fuck himself unless he helps me with Darfur. All boring nonsense. Where the fuck is Ana?

"Hey, Grey," Another fucker from high school comes over before I can sit down. "Where's your date? She didn't leave, did she?"

"Of course not! She's in the powder room."

"Can't wait to see you two together later." He just smiles and then takes off.

What the fuck is wrong with these assholes?

"Sir," Taylor says, walking up to me with a somewhat alarmed expression on his face. "Something has come to my attention."

"What? Is it Leila?!" I gasp.

"No, sir. No news there."

"Then, what?"

"Your old high school friends."

"I don't have any friends from high school."

"The men that keep approaching you?"

"The assholes I hate but exchange pleasantries with?" He nods. "What about them?"

"They're going to try to bid on Miss Steele at the auction."

"She's not in the auction!"

He nods slowly, as if to tell me bad news.

"The first dance auction for the single ladies."

"She's not single! She's with me!"

"She's unmarried..."

Oh fuck. That's right. I totally forgot about this. I never had a date to buy before and I certainly didn't want to dance with anyone. Well, I bid on Mia, but that stopped when she was twelve and wanted to dance with "real boys" that weren't her brother.

Wait— what am I worried about? I'm Christian Grey.

"They don't have enough money to outbid me!"

"That's not the point. They want to get you so jealous and riled up, you'll get into a brawl and humiliate yourself in front of Miss Steele, your family and the entire crowd."

"Why the hell would they want to do that?"

"They think you're..."

"What?

"It's hard for me to repeat, sir."

"Just say it!"

"How can I put this more politely?—A sexually charged nether-region who thinks his product of waste smells like a delightful bouquet."

I think about that for a moment.

"They said that I'm a fucking asshole who thinks his shit doesn't stink?"

"You got it, sir!" he says, excitedly. Why do I feel like we're in a game show all of a sudden and I just got the big-prize puzzle right?

Those fuckers! High school really never ends, does it? Especially for losers at real life.

"Don't worry, Taylor. I have it all under control. Two can play at that game.

"I think there are like seven of them, sir."

"Whatever. They only amount to one mistake, anyway."

I see Ana and Mia coming back this way.

"Let me know if anything else comes up."

"Right away, sir."

He takes off as Ana approaches me.

"Do you feel better?" I ask.

"Not altogether."

"Join the club. But, I may steal you away later." I kiss her hair, then escort her back to our seats.

The lights dim, which could only mean one thing... The auction is set to begin.


	26. Chapter 26

_**Thank you for being so patient and for all your reviews and follows! And thank you for reading my other stories, too! xox**_

"What did the green grape say to the purple grape?" MC Ron asks from center stage, about to auction off another item. "Breathe, stupid, breathe!"

The crowd erupts in laughter as this pig becomes a ham. What the fuck is this? I don't remember the"entertainment" being of such low quality last year. Ana must think we're a bunch of low bred clowns. I feel sorry for Carrick. He's up there with this idiot who's acting as if they're Martin and Lewis or something, only Carrick isn't in on the act, so MC Ron is going it alone. Much like his sex life, it's a solo act.

"Which leads me to our next item up for auction. Carrick?" MC Ron says, motioning to my father to say his next line.

"How does two cases of wine from the Alban estates sound?" Carrick reads off from his card.

"Well, I didn't expect you to buy me a drink, Cary, but if you insist..." MC Ron slaps Carrick on the back and laughs as the band leader rim shots on the drum.

"He thought he was offering a drink," my mother says, turning back to us and laughing. Speaking of drinks, I think she's on her third generously poured glass of Pinot and it's not even nine o'clock. She's been so nervous all night because of Ana. The whole family has. They act like this is my one shot at happiness or any kind of future. But of course they're right.

Without thinking, I reach over and grab Ana's hand and give it a squeeze. In reassurance? In apology for this terrible performance we're enduring? To tell her that I'm glad she's here and she's real and she's mine? Or just because I want to hold her hand?

She looks over and smiles and gives my fingers a little squeeze in return.

I eye Bent Dicks at his table, drinking something amber and on the rocks. It'll be dishwater with rocks out of a dog's ass if he tries something tonight. He keeps cutting looks back to me and to Ana. He tries to look away and play it off, but I can feel his eyes all over my girl. I have a finely tuned radar for dicks—disabled or not—eying Ana.

I look to Taylor who's watching the scene along the outer rim of the party. He nods in reassurance that he'll have Dicks handled. He tries anything during that first dance auction, we'll take care of him.

Finally, after much adieu about literally fucking nothing but this idiot on stage's pathetic attempts to jumpstart a comedy career, people start bidding on their future intoxication while still very much on their present one.

"Sold for $5700!" MC Ron says. Oh great, Hartley Higgins bought the wine. His estranged wife will be thrilled. She just got through pouring his whiskey habit in the yard over the lawn swans.

This auction is endless. I find myself tapping my foot under the table, and I'm not a tapper. Probably because I've never found myself waiting for anything good to happen before. But, I've been waiting all evening to be alone with Ana. I always thought toe tappers were completely out of control and pathetically impatient. Maybe I was right.

I look to Ana who's taking it all in. I hope she's not embarrassed to be part of all this—the act on stage, my family's antics, or by me... I hope I'm being a good enough date. I look over at her to check and see if she's having a good time, but I'm struck and rendered useless, captivated by her and frozen in the spell she unknowingly casts. Maybe it's her stardust.

Her eyes are sparkling in the candlelight as they peek through her mask. Those diamonds dangling from her ears are nothing compared to those eyes. It wouldn't matter if every part of her face was covered, I'd know those blues anywhere. I get a delicious idea for later—Ana, naked, only in her high heels and that mask. My pants suddenly grow uncomfortably tight and my toes are tapping again.

I guess I've been staring for longer than I realize when I catch my mother, grandmother, grandfather and Mia all watching me watch Ana. And I realize I've been smiling like a loon. I haven't been this embarrassed in front of my family since I was fourteen and Elliot caught me jerking off in the boathouse and told everyone at the Thanksgiving table. My mother smiles and gives me a wink. Thank goodness Ana hasn't noticed. What girl wants to spend the night with a puppy dog?I clear my throat and cut my eyes away and back to the stage, but not quick enough to catch my grandfather smiling and giving me an enthusiastic two thumbs up.

"You have property in Aspen?" Ana blurts out, looking up from the page of items she's reading from. It's like she just found out I had three love children in South America and a common law husband.

I nod and put a finger to my lips to hush her before people hear.

"Do you have property elsewhere?" she whispers. What's with the questions? Why is she so surprised? I'm a billionaire; property shouldn't be news. Of course this is all news to Ana. And it takes me a minute, but as I watch MC Ron and his catwalk-like modeling with the Gucci bag Andrea donated for auction, I realize it delights me. Because none of it is the reason Ana's here with me tonight.

The crowd erupts when the bag and it's accessories go for $12,000. At least the charity is making money tonight. And because of it, some child out there has a chance to be nothing like me.

"Yes, I'll tell you later," I lean in and whisper over the applause. I can imagine taking her to Aspen. Her as my little snow bunny. I'll have to get her a winter wardrobe—some ski pants and sweaters and furry things. Furry cuffs... I have to recross my legs on that thought. Maybe I'll buy her a diamond necklace to match those earrings and a black velvet strapless gown with a high slit that she'll wear to our private dinner overlooking Aspen Mountain. I can imagine her walking down from the spiral staircase to the sound of violins. Perhaps later we could fuck by the fire or in the jacuzzi with snow surrounding and a chill in the air to make her nipples stand on end. Maybe we could spend the holidays there—just her and me. Or Valentine's Day... Yes, I could plan a romantic getaway... Me planning a romantic getaway? Impossible. But then I realize I just did.

"I wanted to come with you," I say, when the applause start up again.

"I wanted you to," she pouts. She's so cute when she pouts. And to think pouting like that used to be against the rules.

"Cary, I know you want to have beautiful skin like me," MC Ron says. "Too bad, it's genetics." My father looks like he might try and escape the stage at any minute. But, the crowd seems to be eating this shit up.

"Laugh. I know," Carrick says, reading it straight off the card. Obviously the _laugh_ was stage direction, but him reading it was actually the most amusing part of the act so far. "But really, let's get serious here..." Yes, please for the love of God, let's! "It's all because of your facials at Esclava."

Oh fuck. The Esclava package. I look over at Ana. She's twisting her mouth in a frown, I'm sure over this prize from Elena.

"I bet five!" my grandmother says, raising her hand.

"You get all that for free!" my grandfather says to her. He's right. I give her a full pass to the salon.

"It's for charity, you old goat."

"Why didn't you go for the wine, then? At least then we could get drunk and screw."

"Dad!" Grace says.

Ana's looking around. No doubt to see if she can spot Elena. Thank goodness she's not here tonight. I don't want World War III on my hands.

"Ten thousand," a voice in the crowd calls out. I turn to look. Of course, it's Johnny Depp. I knew he'd go for the facials and the waxing.

The bidding for my place in Aspen begins with MC Ron pretending he's on skis and mimicking a jump out into the crowd. Him jumping off something sounds good right about now.

"Don't bid on this one," my grandfather says to my grandmother. "We already go there for free, too!"

The bids start flying. It gets pretty high. Martin Colderman and his wife Bernice bid twenty thousand. Oh fuck. They won last year and my cleaners couldn't get that smell out of the house for a month! I arrived for a solo getaway a few weeks after and it was like I walked into a fish gutting plant if the fish wore perfume and the gutters never rolled a stick over their pits. I guess they want round two. Maybe Valentine's Day will be best for that romantic getaway with Ana. It'll give me time to air it out.

"Twenty thousand, going once, going twice..."

MC Ron is about to throw the gavel down.

"Twenty-four thousand dollars," Ana says, flying up from her seat.

What. The. Hell.

Twenty-four thousand.

What I gave her.

"Going once, going twice..."

Sold.

I gasp; the wind knocked from me like a kick in the ribs by a sharp Louboutin. Suddenly I'm back in the sixth grade playing chess against Jeremy Hopper when after hours of strategic play, and my confidence in a well bet win, he calls check mate.

Everyone starts to applaud, though my family is looking at her with surprise as she sits back down. I can't look at her at all. How could she purposely disrespect me like this? Here; in front of my family and everyone I know who I just introduced as my girl. Thankfully they don't know anything about the money or my feelings about it, but I do. And so does she. And I'm not sure if I'm upset because she disobeyed my wishes, or because she beat me at my own game.

Get yourself together, Grey. Get the upper hand again.

I join in on the applause and lean in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"I don't know whether to worship at your feet or spank the living shit out of you," I whisper in her ear.

That'll get a reaction.

But, Ana being Ana doesn't give me the reaction I expect. She doesn't turn her gaze down in regret or apologize, nor does she back down. She looks me straight in the eyes and raises a brow.

"I'll take option two," she says, biting down on the flesh of that delicious lip.

Holy shit. Straight to my groin. I inhale so sharply it's like a knife blade enters my lungs. She purposely defies my wishes, blatantly disregards my words and then has the nerve to turn me the fuck on, bringing me to heel, because I can't stop my dick from trying to leap through my pants to get to her. And, I can't even punish her at all, because of our new relationship. Has she no mercy?

Wait, maybe she's not trying to torture me. Maybe she's trying to provoke me to get what she wants—a spanking. Topping from the bottom... Miss Steele is a pro and she doesn't even know the game. Yes, I'd imagine she's probably hot and needy from the effect of those balls right about now. Perhaps it's Miss Steele who wants my palm to pink her skin.

I smile a shit eating grin.

"Suffering, are we?" I ask, as I run my fingers along my jaw. She watches. No doubt imagining my fingers on her and inside of her, relieving the dull ache that fires in her belly. "We'll have to see what we can do about that."

She fidgets in her seat as bidding for the next item goes on. I couldn't fucking care less about the Venetian mirror MC Ron just handed off to my father that nearly toppled him. With what I'm about to do, I'm just glad all eyes won't be on us.

I put my arm around Anastasia, casually, allowing my fingers to brush her skin. I stroke her back and she inhales. Even in the candlelight I can see her cheeks blush from my touch.

I take her other hand in my free one and bring it to my lips, softly kissing her knuckles, then gently laying it on my lap I begin to move it slowly and purposefully up my leg and over my hardening erection.

She gasps when she feels me and I smile, keeping my eyes fixed ahead. Although I think I've surprised her, as ever, she surprises me. She doesn't pull away. Instead, she moves her fingertips up and down my cloth covered shaft, teasing me and tormenting me with her skill. I inhale sharply. Anastasia has no fear and no mercy. This is new—and I like it.

I'm careful to hide her fingers over mine as she runs her hand up and and down me. Fuck, it feels so good. When was it ever this good? I've played games like this with submissives before, but I always maintained the upper hand. But, it's painfully obvious whose hand is in control now. And I'm suddenly thinking of excuses I could make for the wet stain that's about to hit my pants.

"Sold for forty thousand dollars," MC Ron says and the crowd erupts in applause, stealing me back, just before an eruption of my own. I don't know what the fuck they were bidding on, but he tells us it's the last item and that's all I need to hear.

"Ready?" I ask her, practically panting with want.

"Yes." And she's panting the same.

"Ana!" Mia calls out as she jumps up from her seat and over to Ana's. "The first dance auction! It's time."

"Ana's busy," I say, trying to pull her away from my overly exuberant sister.

"With what?"

My cock. No, I can't say that to my sister. But Ana snorts a laugh, so I know she knows what I'm thinking.

"I want her to, uh... meet some people." People like my cock. Who she's already met, but I want her to be be fully reacquainted with again.

"Can't it wait? The contest is about to begin."

"Not for twenty minutes." That's all we'll need. Hell, I could get the job done in ten.

"We have to organize ourselves," Mia says.

"Organize yourselves? All you do is stand in a line?"

"But, we have to do it pretty."

I shake my head. Realizing my sister isn't giving up, I lean over and whisper in Ana's ear, "The first dance will be with me. And it won't be on the dance floor."

She giggles and purposefully bites her lip. "I look forward to it."

Completely taking me off guard, she leans over and gives me the softest kiss. It's an odd feeling to be so utterly turned on and to be so sweetly kissed all at once. Odd—but so nice. And even though we're in public, surrounded by my family, I don't want to pull away. The whole world could be watching and I wouldn't know; to me they've all disappeared. I close my eyes as her lips connect with mine. She tastes like cherries and wine and everything Ana. The butterflies are back, dancing in the ribbed cage of my chest. They want out, so they can fly with her.

"Geez, you two can get a room later," Mia says, pulling Ana away and forcing me back to reality.

My family is staring at me like the son they knew has been replaced with this alternate being and they're glad. And maybe it's not far from the truth.

"Someone's putting a fire out in the sack with his hose tonight!" my grandfather says and I laugh as Grace shushes him again.

Fuck. I look down and notice I have a hard-on for days and a heart that aches and she's only been gone for forty-seven seconds—I checked. Seconds were never this long before. She's even re-set time.

You're hopeless, Grey. Or maybe it's because I have hope now that I feel all mixed up like this. Because deep down I know that hope isn't a thing you keep—it's a thing you lose.

I have to get away from this table. I'm too miserable without her here. I decide to get in place early for the auction. I want to be front and center to make sure Bent and his traveling band of disabled dicks don't have any leverage to pounce. At least Taylor and Sawyer will swoop in to make sure nothing bad happens. I've got it handled.

"Grey," a voice shouts as I walk toward the dance floor.

I turn to see it's that Hartley Higgens character. Oh fuck. And he's drunk—of course. He's a big, lumbersome guy. I wonder how many of whatever's in his hand it takes to get him sloshed.

"Hart, good to see you," I wave—less hi and more move along. I would tell him to fuck off, but I do big business with his telecommunications company and we're working on that solar powered phone. Of course, he's so hammered he probably wouldn't remember anyway. It's disgusting he'd get like this at a ball benefiting children who are victims of their parent's substance abuse. At least he has no kids. Just a near ex-wife who has to treat him like one.

"I wanted to talk to you about something big, Grey!" Your drinking problem or your pathetic state in general?

"Later; I'm going to bid on my _girlfriend_ in the auction." And of course, I put the emphasis on girlfriend. Of course he did too and that's why there's an extra zero on the forthcoming alimony checks.

"That's not for fifteen minutes." He looks at the watch he's not wearing. "I just need a minute of your time." He looks around nervously as sweat drips from his brow. "I have a big deal for your company. But we have to act fast."

I hem and haw, but I figure a minute or two won't matter. No one's really lining up for the bidding yet, either. And I may look like a real creep standing alone on the dance floor just staring at Ana with all the other women there. Not that I give a shit what anyone thinks, but Ana does. I don't want her to be uncomfortable or pissed with me later.

"What is it?" I move toward him as he backs away from the crowd. He's not watching where he's going and almost knocks into a waiter.

"We need to go farther. I don't want anyone to hear." What the hell is so top secret that he'd bring it up now when he's drunk at a ball? I normally wouldn't trust talking business with a drunk man like this, but he's pretty much like this at the office, too. And I don't know how he does it, but he's good at his work.

He leads me so we're standing by the portable johns on the edge of the yard. He really seems nervous now. He keeps looking around, I assume to make sure that no one's in earshot, but it's starting to disturb me.

"Come on, I don't have all night," I say to him, cutting him a little slack because he could be of value to my work in Darfur. "Get on with it.".

He takes a hefty sip of his drink, then looks me dead in the eye and he looks kind of emotional. It's more than just bloodshot eyes, something is troubling him. Oh please, don't spill your guts about your mistress or your marriage. I'm dealing with enough trouble with women on my own.

"Before I say or do anything, just know I really like you, Grey." He points a finger to me, sloshing his drink all over his French cuff. "You're an asshole, but you're one of the good ones."

Did he just call me an asshole?

"Did you just call me an asshole?" I say, my irritation level rising.

"Yes, but I meant it as a compliment. You're trustable one." The fact that this man is declaring his trust in my asshole disturbs me on so many levels.

"What the hell are you talking about? Since when can you trust an asshole?" Why am I even entertaining this conversation?

"You know—one that knows he's got a job, and it may not be pretty, but he does it." He takes another sip, and sways from foot to foot. "He gets crap done."

Well, this is entertaining. Maybe he should take MC Ron's place next year.

"I want to be your kind of asshole," he says, swaying from foot to foot.

MC Ron announces from the stage that the auction will begin in ten minutes. That's it—I'm through with this idiot.

"Listen, it's been fun, but I have to go—" I say. "We'll talk when you're sob—" I correct myself. "—less drunk."

I start to move away when he downs the rest of the drink, throws the glass on the lawn and grabs both of my wrists.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I ask, taken completely off guard.

I try to pull away, but before I know it he's pushed me backwards into one of the johns with him and though I try to fight him, he pulls the door shut.

"Don't fight! Just relax!" he says.

I've been in a situation like this before at one of these balls with Elena. Is this guy going to try and assault me in a porta potty.

"Get out of my fucking way!" I yell.

I hear someone outside. Someone's trying to get in...

"Let me out!" I scream, pawing for the door, only to discover that someone isn't trying to get inside— they're trying to make sure we don't get out.

"Why can't I open this door?" I ask, shaking the handle.

"I'm sorry, Grey!" Hartley says and he actually starts to sob. "They made me do it!"

"They?!"

This is like some crazy nightmare! I thought we had to worry about Leila! I never feared an inside job!

"Did Bent put you up to this?" I take him by the collar and he nods. "What the fuck?" I shake him, but this place is so small, my elbows keep hitting the walls. And if I push forward too much, he'll be pressing against my chest and I can't let that happen. I try to shift to my right, so I can move this fat fuck out of the way of the door, but as I do I set off the sensor and the toilet flushes—again and again and again.

"Five more minutes!" MC Ron says, his voice echoing through the polyethylene walls. Fuck, I'm running out of time.

"Did Bent lock this door?"

He nods. "He told me he'd expose my drinking problem to everyone—work, friends, family—my beautiful wife.

"Everyone already fucking knows! That's why you're getting divorced!"

"Yeah,... But then he tricked me and took my wallet so I couldn't pay for anything more at the bar. He said he'd give it back if I kept you here until they bought your girlfriend. Then they'd let us out so you would go crazy when you saw seven of them with her on the dance floor."

Oh. My. God.

I'm seething. I can't contain my rage. I put my hands around his neck and start to strangle the fucker when the door opens and Hartley falls backwards and onto the ground.

Taylor to the rescue.

"Taylor!" I call out, as I run out of the stall.

"Are you alright, sir?" he asks, rushing to me.

"Yes, a bit shaken, but I'm glad you got here."

"We overheard what they were planning and when I looked over you were gone, so I rushed to find you."

"The auction is about to begin," MC Ron says from the stage.

"What happened to Bent and those fuckers?" I ask, worried they're still out there and about to get my Ana.

Taylor points in the distance to the group of assholes with their pathetic leader being escorted out by Sawyer and the security on the property.

"Would you like to help us see them out, sir?" Taylor asks, a glint in his eye tells me he's ready to see them out in more ways than one.

"No Taylor, you take care of it," I say. "And take care of that fucker, Hartley." I'll take care of his business on Monday. "I have a dance to bid on."

I can see him smile as I take off to find a spot front and center.

As I make my way through the crowd of single men ogling the single woman, I look out and all I can see is one—her. She's so gorgeous in the moonlight. The silver of her dress shimmering and dazzling against her pale perfect skin. Her lips look like she just kissed a perfect rose.

Mia's got her in conversation about something. I hope she's not telling Ana anything embarrassing. Knowing my sister though, that's a guarantee. But, I hope it's just stories about me nearly exploding the chemistry class from an experiment gone wrong or how goofy I would comb my hair for class pictures. Ana doesn't need to hear all the rough stuff.

MC Ron takes the stage and he's changed his mask and he now looks like some dirty old jester.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in the tradition of the masquerade we shall maintain the mystery behind the masks and stick to first names only..."

Mystery? Who the fuck is he kidding? Everyone knows everyone here, especially their own dates. Speaking of dates; where did that idiot Sean go who was with Mia? He's not up here bidding. Of course, he probably has no dollars to bid and less sense.

"First up we have the lovely Jada."

Jada. Who the fuck would bid on a girl who giggles like she has bubbles popping out from her throat? She's sweet, but more like one of those little bottle candies. At first there's a pop of flavor, but then it's all just wax.

"Jada speaks fluent Japanese, is a qualified fighter pilot, and an Olympic gymnast...hmm." The MC dramatically winks.

"She did the splits on my face," some idiot next to me says and the others of his idiot kind laugh. It's odd to hang out in a group of single men like this. No wonder I don't have any friends, I'd hate all of them.

"Gentlemen, what is your bid?" MC Ron says.

"A thousand bucks!" one of the guys calls out.

"Two!" another one says.

And then there's a three and finally a five. What the the hell? Maybe Jada does do good split jobs.

"Going once...going twice...sold!" the MC declares loudly, "...to the gentleman in the mask!" He laughs.

This MC really needs to be taken out and shot to put us all out of this misery.

"Gentlemen, may I present the wonderful Mariah..."

Some other silly girl takes the stage and I lose interest, so I watch Ana. Mia is really chatting her up. Ana looks over to me and our eyes catch, but she looks a little startled and bewildered by something. What the hell is Mia saying to her? I'm about to make my way over when Ana smiles and gives me a little wave and all the world is right again. I smile back. Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe Mia was just telling her about how I used to like to wear Crocs.

What are we going to do about Mariah?" The MC says.

Get her the fuck off the stage!

"She's an experienced matador, plays the cello to concert standard, and she's a champion pole-vaulter...how about that, gentlemen?"

"She vaulted my pole last Wednesday," that same idiot from before says. If he says anything about Ana, I'll elbow his face.

What am I bid, please, for a dance with the delightful Mariah?"

I'd rather pay to walk over coals on my knees. God, move on already!

Shockingly, someone wants her for four grand.

"And now we have the pretty, Lily."

Oh god. Poltergeist.

Here she comes. Strutting out here, flashing those teeth like it's shark week.

"Lily enjoys ice hockey and the trombone and has been seen deep sea diving in the Great Barrier Reef." See, I knew she was a shark.

I'm waiting for the guy next to me to say he went deep diving in her sea last week, but even he must have some standards.

There are several more girls traipsed through and I'm getting annoyed by all of them. I feel like I'm at a county fair looking for a horse and I found twenty mules.

"And here we have Ana," MC Ron says and every part of me is brought to attention. Every part.

She looks to Mia and my sister shoos her to center stage. And although she belongs in the spotlight, I hate that all these creeps are watching her there.

"Beautiful Ana plays six musical instruments, speaks fluent Mandarin, and is keen on yoga...well, gentlemen—"

He notices my glare and wisely stops talking. I also give a glare to Mr. Sex Joke and he stays radio silent.

"Ten thousand dollars," I say, staking my claim. No one is bidding on Ana, but me.

"Fifteen," a voice echoes in the crowd. My pulse quickens and I start to sweat thinking that one of Bent's boys has returned. I'm ready to attack, but then I realize it's a voice I know well.

Fucking Flynn.

I shake my head, but I have to smile. He loves giving me shit about my being in love. In fact, he's smiling like a loon. And as my shrink, I suppose tonight is a big deal for him, too. I don't think he ever thought he'd see a day where I'd bid on a dance.

"Well, we have high rollers here!" MC Ron says, clapping his hands together.

"Twenty," I say quickly. All eyes are on Ana, Flynn and myself.

"Twenty-five," Flynn shoots back. He really wants to prove a point.

The crowd falls silent, waiting for my response. I decide to punctuate that point to Flynn and everyone else in this room—especially Ana.

"One hundred thousand dollars," I say.

There are gasps and laughter lit with surprise.

"What the fuck?" I hear some girl say. I think it was Lily.

MC Ron stares at me and is at a loss for words. Another first...

I clear my throat and nod my head to his little gavel, indicating for him to seal my deal.

"Oh right," he picks it up. "One hundred thousand going once, going twice..." He looks to Flynn who concedes his loss, then he pounds down the gavel. "Sold!"

The crowd applauds. There are cheers and I think a few muffled jeers. I can see Mia jumping up and down and my mother in joyful tears. I walk to Ana and take her hand, helping her off the stage. The light from the chandelier overhead dances on her and my second chance sparkles.

"Who was that?" she asks as I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss it.

"Someone you can meet later. I know he wants to meet you." I smirk.

"Where are we going?" she asks as I lead her out onto the lawn.

"We only have about thirty minutes until the auction ends and we have our first dance and I wanted to show you something."

She raises a brow.

"Not just that," I say. "Although, you'll be more than seeing him as well." I lean in and nip at her ear and she squeals.

"That was a very expensive first dance," she says.

"What can I say—I'm a guy big on firsts." I smile. And I realize that this too is a first, walking hand in hand with a girl under trees in my yard that I was always too afraid to climb.

She stops, looks at me and then out of nowhere blows on my face.

"What was that?" I ask, blinking my eyes, a bit startled.

"You had an eyelash on your cheek," she says cheerily, like she'd found gold and touches briefly where it had been. "Make a wish."

"You get wishes for things like that?"

"Yes—it's magical. Sort of like teeth under the pillow or fallen stars." She looks up as if she believes she might just see one; and smiles like she has.

"Eyelash wish logic, huh?" I ask.

She nods.

"So, you really think I'll get a wish granted from an eyelash falling on my cheek?"

She nods again with more pep. "Why don't you try?"

"No, if there's one think I'm not, it's a wisher."

"Well, I'm not going to let you waste a perfectly good eyelash wish, so I'll do it for you."

She closes her eyes tight and after a moment she smiles.

"Done," she says, popping her eyes open again.

"You made me a wish?"

She nods emphatically.

"Don't you want to know what it is?" she asks.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Isn't there some wish lore that says it won't come true if you say it out loud?"

She smirks. "I thought you didn't believe in eyelash wishes."

"I don't. But, you have me thinking about all kinds of crazy possibilities lately."

"Like what?" She knows what and she just wants me to spit it out—that I love her. I inhale deeply and wait for something to come out, but all I give her is a breath. And she smiles at me, holding her fingers to my lips in hush, as if to say that breath was somehow enough. "I love you."

She stuns me to silence. Those words always do. I stand there for a moment, then close my eyes and dip my head. How can I believe that? She's young and naive. She trusts. She doesn't really know me; the depth of my depravity. Although she knows me better than any other person ever has. But how can this sweet, lovely, unbelievable girl love me when I wasn't even loved by my own crack whore of a mother?

Although I'm too selfish to ever let her go, I know she shouldn't love me. Loving her lifts me, but pulls on her. Because time and space and the turning of the earth teach us that the darkness that touches the first light of day brings morning, but the light that touches the darkness only brings night.

"Come on," I finally say, pulling her along and inside toward the stairs. She doesn't ask any more of me. She knows I've reached my limit as the tension in my body screams _yellow_. Though for a moment I think how nice it would be to tell her that I love her on this lawn my bedroom overlooks under the leaves of summer apple trees.

"Where are you taking me?" she asks as we reach the door to my room.

"Another first, Miss Steele," I say as I open the door.

And all at once I'm fourteen. But, not the fourteen that I was; the fourteen that has been replaced with a boy who loves a girl who makes him want to believe in the possibility of eyelash wishes.


	27. Chapter 27

"This was my room," I say as I open the door to my childhood. It's an odd feeling to show someone the place where you did your growing. Especially when most of it was spent hiding and wishing you'd never been born at all. Although it scares the shit out of me to show her the pieces of who I was then, and a part of me wants to run, the need to be known by Ana is far greater than the need to hide away. And if I'm pressed to admit it, that pre-teen boy who used to jerk off under these covers about a beautiful girl of his own who he never believed he could have, would really like to fuck her in here.

The room is as it was. I'm not sure why Grace wanted to preserve all these memories, but they've survived and like me, here they are. But unlike Grace, I don't romanticize what was. I don't see the past through the softening flicker of candlelight.

"Nice bed," Ana says as I usher her inside and lock the door behind us. I half expect her to take her shoes off and bounce on it with her childlike exuberance. Oh what a show that would be.

"You should've seen it when I had bunk beds."

"You had bunk beds?" she giggles. "What happened to them?"

"Elliot had a game where he would jump off from the top and onto a waiting skateboard and try and make it down the hall. He was really good…"

"Until…" she says.

"Until… Three broken bones, a lost tooth and a destroyed heirloom vase. Needles to say the top bunk went away and Elliot was grounded indefinitely."

She's laughing. Why does it make me feel ten feet tall when she laughs at something silly I say?

"Did Elliot share a room with you?" she asks, touching the wood of my bed frame.

"No, we always had our own space." And I would terrify him with my nightmares. They wanted to keep all that away from Elliot and Mia, but they knew. They heard the blood curdling screams and the sound of Grace's slippered feet running down the hall.

"Why the bunk beds, then?" she asks.

"I guess at one time my mother thought I'd have friends to sleep over." I shrug and she quiets. I can feel her pity. I don't want pity. "You know I don't sleep next to anyone, anyway," I smile.

She nods and graces me with a smile in return.

"You can see the party from here," she says, excitedly, looking down over the ledge.

"Yes, I know," I say, walking up behind her and brushing two fingers along the length of her spine at her open back. "It's a popular place to share a kiss." I point to the tree below and a young couple doing just that under the cage of the limbs.

I can almost feel the ghost of myself in youth, lying in that bed, trying to get rest while my parent's ball was going on down beneath me. I used to climb out and sit on my window ledge and watch as party goers danced, drank entirely too much, and ended up kissing under that apple tree below. I became an expert at judging their relationships—casual, serious, married, drunk but could lead to something, drunk it's one night only, and drunk she just hurled on his shoes… But, I always wondered what it would be like to really kiss a girl. Not just the mechanics, but to really feel her lips, her breath, her tongue. The kind of kiss that sets you on fire and you not only feel the heat of the flames, but you also disappear in the light. It took me nearly twenty-eight years and an elevator ride with an angel, but I finally felt it.

"I've never brought a girl here," I say, feeling suddenly shy as I bring my lips to her shoulder and kiss her.

"Never?" she asks, a little surprised, I think, as she turns to me and I shake my head. I'm not sure why she's surprised. She knows there's never been anyone like her. And I know in my bones there never will be again. And it's the truth in that knowledge that both warms me and chills me.

"I'm not what's known as a sociable character," I say as I loosen my bow tie.

"Oh, I don't know. You're quite friendly with me," she smiles and the way her eyes light from the desk lamp I flick on is nothing short of breathtaking.

"Well, you and your attributes have a way of bringing out my personality."

"Is that what you call it?" she laughs and I find I'm laughing with her, as I remove my jacket and drape it over the chair I sat in once, on a particular difficult midnight when I was fourteen, making a list of pros and cons as to whether I should continue my life. Of course I lived; I couldn't do that to Grace. Until time's end she would think she failed me. But, it was I that continually failed her. Plus, I think I blacked out from that stolen half bottle of Jack from my father's unlocked cabinet and I wasn't brave enough to take the pills. I find it fitting that that's the seat Ana's chosen to lay her things. As if to wrap a piece of herself around that boy and tell him to wait for this night.

I watch as she walks across the carpet, examining the souvenirs of my boyhood. I haven't felt this out of sorts for a long time. Or this alive. But, there's a price being lit up like this, as I am with her—exposure.

She takes in the posters on my wall—_Fight Club _(a stark reminder of my brawling years), _The Truman Show_ (why the fuck did I ever put that one up? She's going to think I was such a geek. I didn't even like it that much, I think Carrick got it for free at some gas station give away), _The Matrix _(still one of the coolest films ever, but would she think so?), and some Mariners pendants and whatnot.

I watch her, almost like a caged animal I fear may strike. Not that she'll really attack, more like she'll find some old Teen Beat magazines and discover I used to watch those old TGIF sitcoms home alone on Friday nights and she'll be through with me.

"You like kickboxing?" she asks and I startle. I'm not used to being asked about my likes and dislikes. When I'm the boss I don't have to explain myself and no one is given room to judge me. But, this is different. If I answer any of this wrong, I'm afraid she'll go away. And because there's no contract, I can't tell her not to.

"Uh, yeah." I watch her to test her reaction. It seems fine, I think. Although, she's looking at me like I'm strange, but that's normal. "I guess that's why I work out with Claude," I say, trying to make a joke by imitating some lame ass karate move that looks like something a kid with a pocket protector would do to fend off a dragon attack. Why did you attempt humor, Grey?! It never works out for you. I'm such a goof around her. I always end up looking like a bad Jerry Lewis impersonator. Maybe I should team up with the MC. But, at least she's smiling. I like her smiling. I especially like her smiling at me, even if it's at my own goofball expense.

"What's this?" she asks, picking up my tattered old copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_ from my desk. "First edition?" she smiles.

"It may look old enough to be, but no. I actually think that was an old library book I never returned to the high school."

She gasps. "Imagine the late fees!"

"So, I'll build a new library," I shrug.

"I'll hold you to it." She examines it, hugging her fingers around the binding, almost as if she's trying to feel the way my hands held it when I was a boy.

"All young men love Holden, don't they?" she asks.

"I suppose you think I'm cliché." I so hope not.

"There's nothing cliché about you, Christian." She smiles sweetly and sincere and then looks at it again. "What was your favorite part?

Discussing books with Ana is a slippery slope. She knows everything of literature and can read between my lines to read straight through me.

"I guess the usual stuff," I say, brushing it off.

"What does that mean?"

Shit, she's reading me…

"I guess… I don't know, I always rather liked the relationship between Holden and Phoebe."

"Really?" she asks, stepping back to take a look at me.

I nod, but warily. Is that weird? Why is she looking at me so surprised? Did she expect me to say the part with the hooker?

"He wanted to protect her innocence from a cruel and heartless world," I explain further. "And she listened to him. Really listened. No one did that…"

She's watching me, and fittingly, really listening.

"I love her, too," she says and there's warmth in her eyes.

"And the fact that all children are born with an innocence and faith that's taken from them by life..." I'm motioning with my hand in an on and on fashion as my mind slips away, trying to remember when and if I ever had that kind of faith. Maybe when I believed my mom would wake up… or that she might've ever loved me. But, I was very small then.

"I don't believe the world is really all that bad, Mr. Grey." She steps toward me and brushes my hand that is now propped on my old desk. Oh if this wood could speak, it may weep. "If I'm looking at you, how can I?"

I turn away. Why does she always say things like that? She doesn't even know me. But, I'm wrong, she does...

"If anyone should believe the world is good because of who is standing in front of them, Miss Steele, it should be me."

"But, you don't?" She's right. I don't. Not because what I see isn't good—she's better than the grandest wish on the farthest shooting star—it's because the good never stays. And isn't that a crueler world than if you never got anything good at all?

"She also called him on his shit," I laugh, running a hand through my hair and looking out the window to the sway of leaves on that apple tree. That umbrella of dreamy moonlight kisses. Would she like to stand with me beneath those limbs?

"Some men need it," she says.

"Yes, some men do."

Our eyes meet, as if we are connecting on a level I can't fully comprehend, but somehow in the feather weight of her twenty-one years, she can. She watches me for a moment longer than I'm comfortable with, but I secretly crave, then smiles.

"Phoebe," she says, then looks down at the copy of my book and strokes the cover, almost as if she's tucking a secret or a promise away for later as she rocks it to her heart.

She's so beautiful. The way her body is wrapped in the fabric of that dress gets my heart racing and I'm immediately hard.

I don't want to talk anymore. I want to be inside of her.

"We don't have long," I say, slinking up to her. My breath hits her shoulder and the little hairs stand on end. "With the way I'm feeling, we won't need long," I lean in, brush her hair away and whisper in her ear. "Let me get you out of this little dress."

She moans as my lips find her shoulder and my fingers clasp the metal of her zipper and I slide it down.

"Keep the mask on," I whisper in her ear, sliding the dress from her frame and letting it fall and pool at her feet. Then, taking her hand in mine, I help her step from the tangle of satin beneath her.

Her lingerie is exquisite. I have to back away to get a full a view. Although there's little left to the imagination, there's just enough to drive me insane. Caroline Acton has done well—no, make that God. The way the lace pushes against her puckered nipple and the thong of her panties slides up between her smooth, round ass cheeks. Though that boy of twelve or thirteen may have imagined a girl to jerk off to, he never imagined anything like this.

"You know, Anastasia," I say, pulling my bow tie loose and letting it hang free around my neck. "I was so mad when you bought my auction lot." I unbutton my shirt, slowly, and one by one. "I can't begin to tell you what ran through my mind. But, then I had to remind myself that you weren't my submissive and punishments were off the table…" She's eyeing me as I undo my cuff links, fist them in my palm and drop them into my pocket. "But, then you offered." I slink up beside her and kiss her hair. "Why would you do that, sweet girl?" I ask, my breath brushing her temple.

"I don't know. Frustration…too much alcohol…worthy cause," she says, breathy and a bit shaky. But not scared. No, she's excited.

"I vowed to myself I would not spank you," I say and lick my lips, an involuntary reaction to the very sight of her. Lord, I want to taste every inch of her and feel her body hum against my tongue.

"I made a promise to myself that I would not spank you, even if you begged me."

"Oh please," she says, breathy and wanting, almost before I finish my sentence. Wow, I didn't expect her to really beg. Naughty, beautiful girl.

"But, I realize you must be uncomfortable," I say, against her neck, nothing touching her but my warm and needy breath. "And you aren't used to feeling this ache in your belly." My lips skate her ear and she shivers.

"Yes," she pants, her breasts heaving.

"So, there might be some latitude." I nip her ear and she groans as I step back. "But, we do this, you have to promise me something."

"Anything," she breaths.

"You must use your safe words." My gut ceases up remembering that last time. That can never happen again.

"I promise." She's so cute; I think she just did a little Girl Scout sign.

"I'm serious. I will not hurt you again. I have to be able to trust you." I'm pleading with her, I know. But, this means everything.

She nods, slowly; watching me; waiting. She wants this.

"If there's anything you don't like, say the word and I will stop immediately and just make love to you."

"Yes, I promise."

I reach out and touch her cheek.

"I won't lose you again."

She lifts her hand to mine and presses it against her face. And the way she holds me, I allow myself—if only for the moment our hands touch—to believe that she doesn't want lose me, either.

I step back, snake an arm around her waist, and guide her to the bed, moving the duvet and arranging pillows at my side as I sit and then pull her across my lap. Her plume of feathers is sticking up as her head and chest sink into the pillows and she lays over top of me. I can't resist brushing them with my fingers. This mask is so fucking hot. We may have to bring it out in play again.

"Put you hands behind your back," I say, and slowly she moves them just above her delectable ass. I could feast on her swell every day of my life and die a happy man. Especially after it's been pinked by my hand.

"You really want this, Anastasia?" I ask and she peeks her eyes up at me and nods. I then remove my tie and use it to secure her wrists, allowing them to rest at the small of her back as she arches with need. "Say it. I need to hear you."

"Yes," she whispers. "Yes, please."

I take pause, hearing her beg. I never thought this could happen again and here she's almost forcing my hand, so to speak. Anastasia is forever unexpected.

"Why?" I ask, moving my palm up and around the flesh of her behind. Her skin ivory and flawless beneath the jade lace. Not a mark. Not a blemish. Not until my hand changes that.

And my dick just tried to leap through my pants.

"Does there need to be a reason?" she asks, sounding a bit bewildered and confused at my Q&amp;A, like she just wants me to get on with it already.

"No, I'm just trying to understand." I lift my palm from her skin and watch as my hand comes down, slapping that sweet space where her ass and thighs meet and just brushing her wetness. She moans and I exhale, a huge release of tension that I've been carrying inside me since that day she left evaporates.

I lift my hand again and bring it down against her cheeks and know she feels it right where the balls have tormented her deep inside. By the guttural sounds she's making, we both needed this bad.

"Two, I say," striking her flesh. "Let's make it twelve, Anastasia."

"Yes, twelve," her hair falls in her face as she nods and fidgets in my lap.

"You're going to have to stay still," I playfully warn, tucking her hair back behind her ear, and she snorts a giggle, no doubt rolling those sapphire eyes. In the old days, that would call for punishment. Today, all I can do is smile.

But, I must stay with the task at hand—err, palm.

I hit her on one side then the next, careful to spread the love and sensation around, meeting every inch of her ache and desire.

Needing to see what my hand has done to her alabaster skin, I slowly peel her panties away. They catch around her ankles and I slide them off her feet and down her five inch stiletto, allowing them to hang from the tip end of her heel.

I rain down more blows and she bucks and moans. I hope no one can hear. My mother would be mortified. Actually, I take that back. I think she'd be thrilled to know her freak show son is having sex with his beautiful, far too good for him girlfriend. Aside from the bondage and beating, of course.

"Twelve," I say, panting after the last blow. I trace my two fingers down her slit and find her opening, playing with her and then thrusting them inside. "You're so wet for me, baby. Dripping." She starts to moan as I move them in and around, then begin to pound them inside of her. Before I know it, she's clenching around me and coming violently on my hand.

"That's right baby," I say, encouraging her orgasm to go on and on as I hit the very spot the balls weighed down.

"Oh fuck," she says, trembling in ecstasy as she comes back to planet earth. I don't mean to blow my own trumpet, but if I did I'd be Louis Armstrong on the Fourth of July.

"I'm not finished with you yet," I say, still moving my fingers inside of her. It's like Niagra Falls down my wrist.

Still inside of her, I ease her to the floor, on her knees, kneeling at my bed. No, pre-teen Christian never saw her coming, but I'm sure glad I did.

I kneel behind her, still playing with her as I undo my zipper. I finally have to pull my fingers out of her and she gasps and groans and I think I hear a whimper of a pout. Just a second baby and I'll give you more.

I grab that wretched condom from my jacket pocket, tear the foil with my teeth and slide the latex on. Like a vice grip this thing! Thankfully Dr. Greene's coming tomorrow.

"Open your legs," I say, holding and stroking her inner thighs, encouraging them to spread to make room for me. I push myself inside her warm, wet folds and though it feels as good as sin, I'm in heaven knocking on the pearly gates and waving to my good friend Gabriel.

"This is going to be fast," I say, then pull out and slam into her and she nearly screams out my name, but thankfully catches herself before the kitchen staff is alerted.

"Does it feel good, baby?" I ask as I quicken, slamming in and out of her, over and over again.

"Yes," she gasps and as I master control and pound her into sweet oblivion, she does something unexpected. She starts meeting me thrust for thrust.

"No, Ana." But, I want to scream _yes_.

She's slamming that beautiful ass back against me, grinding my cock with every move. I told her it would be quick, but I didn't mean this quick. I've never known a woman to take the reins like this and for it to be so goddamn good.

"Ana, you're going to make me come." And she doesn't stop, instead she starts pounding back on me more. How is she completely riding me when I'm fucking her from behind? I didn't even think this possible. Doesn't this defy the laws of physics?

Three more thrusts and I'm done. I can't hold on. I come violently inside of her, which in turn sends her spiraling into another orgasm of her own.

"Oh Ana…" I say, and kiss her shuddering shoulder as I gain coherence and pull out of her. But, instead of backing away and getting dressed like I'd planned, I wrap my arms around her waist and lay my head on her back, holding to her like she's my life raft.

I've never been such a naked, pathetic man. And I've never felt so good in all my life.

"Ana, I—" of course I can't say it—again. That four letter L word that's swelling in my chest and catching in my throat can't find escape between my lips.

"I know," she breaths and I sigh, the skin of my chest that cannot be touched, pressing to hers. It's warm and it's sweet and it's my Ana.

I look up at the clock after minutes, maybe hours, who knows. Maybe the world has fallen away and it's just us... Actually, it's been a half-hour and I can hear the band starting up outside. I don't want to go, but I want to share our moment in the spotlight. The moment I've been waiting a lifetime for—to show the world that she is really mine.

"I believe you owe me a dance, Miss Steele," I say, kissing down the length of her spine, and pressing my forehead into the small of her back for a fraction of a moment longer, before I have to pull away.

She purrs and smiles, looking back at me through her mask. And for me, in this moment, hope really is a thing with feathers.

"We don't have long." I say, pulling her into my lap and untying her as I kiss her ear, her head. I then lift us both up to standing. We're like newborn foals just finding our footing in a brand new world.

"Can't we just stay in here, together?" she smiles as I hand her her underwear and she steps into her panties, sliding them up her milky thighs. I have to turn away, so I don't take her again. Although, I'd like to make her request come true immediately and for the rest of my life.

"In here?" I ask, buttoning my shirt.

"I like it. I can almost feel what you were like when you were small."

I give her a sympathetic grin and secure my cuff links.

"I think I would've liked you," she says, fastening her bra and adjusting her breasts in their cups. Damn.

"Oh yeah?" I ask, caging my already hardening again member back in my pants. "I don't think there was much to like…"

"I bet you were sweet. And you liked music and books. And baseball." She smiles my way and somehow the way she describes me makes me feel normal.

"Sweet?" I roll my eyes. "No one's ever accused me of that."

"You are."

"After I just spanked the shit out of you?" I raise a brow.

"I liked it."

"Me too, Miss Steele."

I shake my head and put on my jacket. What is she doing to me? She's turning me from a tiger into a house cat, that's what. Before I know it I'll be wearing one of those little bells and she'll call me home to dinner and I'll just curl up in her lap and purr... Why am I smiling like a loon at this?

"Who's that?" Ana asks as I work to tie my tie, startling me out of my kitty cat daydream.

"Don't tell me you've seen the picture of Elliot mooning Camp Young Buck or whatever the hell it was called. I thought Grace burned that—"

I turn and I'm instantly rendered speechless as she points to the one photo I wish she hadn't seen.

My birth mother.

They found that photo in my pocket when they took me from her body. I don't know how it got there. I guess I found it somewhere and foolishly kept it. I kept it always. Even on that night when I was fourteen and mad and drunk and suicidal, I kept it. I'd pathetically talk to it at night as a child when I was scared or hurting, when no one could hear. For a long time I believed she was hiding somewhere, to stay away from the bad man, and she was coming back for me. I don't know why I kept that photo. I should've burned it instead.

"No one of consequence," I say and turn away.

"Then, why is she on your bulletin board?"

Ever curious Ana.

"An oversight on my part." I do my best to dismiss it, but my voice catches on a shred of emotion that's still there. "Would you like me to zip you up?" I ask and she nods softly. I move the zipper up her back as I gather myself to leave the past behind and buried and dead. But, it's hard to look away when my mother's eyes are so much like mine.

"How's my tie?" I ask, raising my chin as I step in front of her.

"You look very handsome," she says, grinning as she straightens me. I like the way she fiddles with the ends and picks a piece of lint no one else would notice from my collar. She makes me feel cared for. I'm already enough of a science experiment, so I won't tell her that nobody has ever been allowed to straighten my tie before.

"Now, it's perfect," she says with a bright smile made from morning.

Ana is day to my night.

"Like you." I lean in, planning on giving her a soft kiss, but of course it turns to passion. She is the only thing that makes me feel sane and good and enough. If only for the brief moments we are one, she gifts me with what I don't have alone.

"Feeling better?" I murmur against her lips.

"Much," she smiles, pulling back and dipping her chin as a dust of rose spreads across her cheeks. "Thank you, Mr. Grey."

I hold my arm out for her to take and without hesitation she does, her hand wrapped around my bicep as I lead us back into the evening. Maybe I'll take her beneath that apple tree...

"Oh Ana, the pleasure has always been mine."


	28. Chapter 28

There's a skip in my step as I hold Ana's hand and lead her down the hallway, moving us away from my childhood room and toward our dance. And I don't know if the degree of my buoyancy is because we've just had an incredible fuck, or that I've shown her something I've never shown anyone before and she's still by my side, or simply because I'm holding her hand.

"Is that where you put your Christmas tree?"Ana asks, pointing to the arched floor-to-ceiling picture window in the great room, as we make our way down the spiral staircase. The empty spot is next to the piano where, fittingly, I learned my first notes by playing carols with Miss Kathie. What an odd question.

"Actually, yes, why?" We stop at the bottom of the staircase for a moment as she looks at the empty place. I don't know what she's imagining, but if it's anything like what I see in her eyes at this moment, it's nothing short of heaven sent.

"It's the perfect spot," she says and she beams. "And it's breathtaking."

"There's nothing there."

"But, there will be. And then it will be magic." She looks up to me.

"You a fan of Christmas?" I ask, grinning back at her because I just can't help myself from getting caught up in her smile.

"It's my favorite," she says, and there's something happy and sad about the way she says it. I'm not quite sure what to say about the subject at all. Aside from the trappings and ceremony I've been a part of with my family, I know nothing of holidays or of tinsel or of silly bearded men who give gifts to children who deserve them. I was never that child. I was given gifts, but only out of duty by two saintly people who got stuck with a disappointment of a kid. I always knew deep down those beautiful gifts under that tree on Christmas morning couldn't really be for me; they had to be for the boy they wished they had. The only thing I've ever truly deserved is the fortune I've amassed, because I've worked for it and money never demanded of me a heart.

"Ray and I spend most Christmases together and I love it, but I always wondered what it would be like in a big house with a big family," she sighs and I watch as the sparkle returns for that place of nothing that she can somehow see beautiful in. "I bet holidays are pretty special here with a big tree with all the lights and ornaments and your family."

"I've never paid attention before," I say and it's more a revelation than a statement as we stand here now, both staring at the spot, imagining a place in the future that holds a lit tree. "But, maybe I'll pay attention this year." I look over to her and smile.

And as I lead her toward the French doors that spill us out onto the lawn, I can almost hear and feel and smell Christmas around us on a balmy night in June, simply because she's dared to imagine it for me.

"Why are you grinning like that?" she asks as I lead her down a candlelit stone path across the lawn. I hadn't realized I was. Does she think I'm a loon? Of course she does. If she can see Christmas in a dark empty corner, she can see the crazy in me.

"I'm enjoying the evening," I say, looking at her and nearly losing my breath from the sight of her for about the hundredth time tonight. If I ever marry this girl I'll need Taylor to wheel around an oxygen tank for me to get through life. _Marry_? There's that word again. _Marry_, as in _I do_. Walk before you run, Grey, walk before you run... And with all this thinking about walking and running and I do-ing down aisles lit with future Christmas trees, I nearly trip on a candle and light myself on fire, instead. Thankfully, it's dark and I caught myself before she noticed—I hope! Why does my mother put these candles out here where any man drunk on love or libations can be taken down in the tip of a tea light?

"I'm enjoying the evening, too," she smiles and dips her head shyly as she squeezes my hand. It's a strange feeling. Strange, but good. I always held my submissives' hands, but they were limp, almost lifeless and it was because I was leading them somewhere, never because I wanted to feel the warmth of their touch. I was always doing the holding. No one has ever held my hand back. And it feels nice to be held by her, if only by her palm against mine.

As we reach the last of the stone steps I can here Sinatra coming from the dance floor ahead, and I want to stop and kiss her, so I do.

"That a boy!" a man's voice yells and I can hear clapping and hooting in the distance.

Ana and I both laugh, breaking our kiss.

"My boy's getting a hole-in-one tonight!" It's my grandfather and I think my grandmother just shushed him with a slap of her handbag.

"My family," I say as way of apology as I kiss her forehead and smile against her skin.

"Your family," she says and I can feel her smile against my mouth just before she kisses me again and her tongue finds mine.

Damn.

"And now, ladies and gentleman, it's time for the first dance of the evening," MC Ron says from the stage as Ana and I arrive to the dance floor just in time. I think he's switched his mask to some bright red atrocity with feathers that look like flames shooting out the top. Either that or someone set his old one on fire to try and get him to leave the stage, but it still didn't work. Again, the fire hazards tonight are endless. I wish someone would get the hose and put him out already.

"Are you ready Dr. And Mr. Grey?" he asks and Carrick nods as he leads Grace onto the dance floor. They still smile when they look at each other and I never really knew what that was about until now.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the first dance auction, are you ready?" Everyone nods. Yes, get the fuck on with it. I want to hold Ana again. And though I've never been more excited for a dance, I've never been more nervous, either. This is it. Our public declaration. The world is watching us. It'll either be Rogers and Astaire or my two left feet.

The chandeliers dim and lights sparkle across the floor like stardust or moonbeams as a tall, lanky man MC Ron calls Sam takes the mic. Where'd he come from? He's like the Taylor of crooners; he just appears from dark places when summoned.

The band starts up and Play it Again Sam begins to sing another of my parents favorites—_I've Got You Under My Skin._ They danced to this the night they got engaged. I've heard the story countless times. They were young, green to the world and hadn't a dime to their names but what they owed in student loans, but they loved, and in spite of the odds built up against them, they believed love was enough. Grace looks at me from over my father's shoulder and winks and I'm left to wonder if she's chosen this song with an ulterior motive.

"Ready, Miss Steele?" I look down at Ana and she nods. And though I'm nervous to do this whole thing right, her smile, her charm and her trust in my arms calms me. And the nerves I'm feeling turn into butterflies.

"I like your moves, Mr. Grey," she smiles and her eyes glitter beneath that mask as they look up to me. I've never seen eyes so blue.

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet." I dip her and she squeals as I bring her back to me. And as I hold her, the world I was once so worried about melts away and it's just me with her and a song.

I've danced with most of my submissives and Elena of course, and although the moves are the same, this is a different thing entirely. This is fun and light and makes me feel... Grace used to say that she knew Carrick was the one when instead of taking her dancing, he took her flying. As a kid, I thought that meant he changed his mind about a party and took her on a plane ride. Now I know what she was really talking about. I'm on a spaceship headed straight to the moon.

"I love this song," I say as I whirl her around and she laughs, clutching my shoulder, and I imagine what it might feel like to hold her hand against my chest. And for a brief moment I almost take it and place it there. But, I'm a coward and I want to keep dancing with her. "It's fitting, you know."

"What is?"

"You, under my skin." She's under my skin, running through my blood and in the strength of my bones.

"You're under my skin too," she says. "Or you certainly were back in your old bedroom." She smirks.

"Miss Steele, I had no idea you could be so crude." I twirl her and she inhales sharply as I catch her again.

"I think it's all my recent experiences, Mr. Grey," she says, a bit breathless from the spin. " They've been an eduction."

"For you and me both."

And for a moment we're quiet as we stare into each other's eyes. Though I'm normally a stickler for the correct form and steps and my place as lead, tonight I just want to hold her in my arms beneath the starlight and make the world go away.

The song finishes. Actually it finished about forty-five seconds before, but we hadn't noticed until asshat MC Ron took the stage again and told everyone to give a thundering applause to Sam. I don't know if it was thundering; more light rain with a gust of wind. I enjoyed him though, and I illicitly start to wonder if he does weddings.

I noticed as our dance came to a close, my mother taking photos of us with her cell phone. She's trying to be sneaky about it and act like she's writing a text with her screen up to her face and pointed in our direction with the flash going off. Jesus, she acts like this is my prom night. I hope Ana doesn't notice. How embarrassing.

I'm about to teach Anastasia a few new moves and perhaps cop a feel when I hear that old English leather behind me.

"May I cut in?" Fucking Flynn. I know he wants to meet her, but why can't he wait until I've danced with her another one or two or ten songs? He's so impatient. They all are. First my grandfather is whooping it up, then my mother's taking pictures, now my psychiatrist wants to ogle her. It's a wonder Ana doesn't bolt.

Of course," I say and although I'm a tad pissed to relinquish her, I'm a ton proud, too. "Anastasia, this is John Flynn. John, Anastasia." I can see him stifle a smile at my mention of her name. Do I really sound like a lovesick fool when I say it? I sure feel that way. But, can she hear it?

"The pleasure is all mine," he says and smiles at me as he takes the floor with my girl. And though it's only Flynn taking her for a quick spin, my stomach drops and my breath catches at the sight of her being swept away from me in another man's arms.

Lord, Grey, you lose her touch for a minute and you're in tizzy. There's irony for you.

I step to the edge of the dance floor near the stage to watch. I wonder what they're talking about. Me, of course. But how far into me are they going? Like he's a terrible joke teller talk or a depraved lunatic speak? This makes me nervous. I know Flynn wouldn't want to fuck this up for me, but what if he slips and says I'm a homicidal maniac or something. I don't believe that I am, but who knows what he scribbles in those files. Or what if he's doing what I should do if I was a good enough man and he's warning her away? No, probably not. His kids' college funds are tied up in my continued lunacy; he would never fuck that up for integrity.

"Do you want a drink?" a passing waiter carrying champagne asks.

"Yes!" I say a bit too loudly as I grab for two. I down one and set it back on the tray fast. As I'm sipping the second one I try to read Ana's lips, but every time she curls her pucker to form an _o,_ a _p_ or any other member of the goddamn alphabet, I imagine them around my cock and I lose focus.

"Mr. Grey," Taylor says, rushing to me with urgency.

"What is it? Did you take care of Bent and the other fuckers?" I ask.

"Trust me, sir. They won't mess with you anymore." I don't know exactly what that means, but I like it. All this intrigue and danger lately has Taylor excited. I think he's getting his rocks off reliving his wartime fantasies against those who wish me harm. Most people prefer sex, but I think Taylor prefers military type action. And lately he's been having daily multiple war-gasms.

"And his other drunk friend will be in rehab on Monday, sir."

"Good work. Anything on Leila?"

Nothing, sir. I'll let you know." Where the hell is she? I don't like that she's been out there alone on the streets for so long. I don't like that she's met Ana. And if she's seen us together, she knows how different this is.

"Well, what did you want to tell me?" I ask.

"Nothing really, sir."

"Then why did you come over here so excitedly?"

"I just thought we should reconvene again. It had been awhile."

Jesus, Taylor's clingy.

Flynn twirls Ana on the dance floor and she laughs. I could hear it clearly from way the fuck over here. Flynn's not funny, what's there to laugh about? And why the fuck is he twirling her? That wasn't part of the deal. And since when do British psychiatrists twirl with such Latin flare?

"If you don't mind me saying so, Mr. Grey..." Taylor says as we both watch Ana and Flynn on the dance floor.

"Speak freely," I say. Flynn just said something and Ana frowned. Shit, what did he say? At least she's not happy with him anymore, but what if it's about me? Trying to concentrate on Flynn and Taylor at once is like trying to pick a Stooge as your favorite.

"You and Miss Steele make a lovely couple, Mr. Grey."

"Oh yeah?" He sees it, too? Maybe I'm not the only one. "Well, maybe if I play my cards right she'll keep me around awhile."

He just looks at me and smiles. It's unnerving. He never smiles. And nobody smiles like that unless they're deranged or simple minded. Or my mother taking those iPhone shots.

"Why are you smiling at me, Taylor?"

"Because you've never played your cards before, sir."

He's right. And fuck, I feel it's more like Russian roulette with the gun aimed straight for my heart.

Suddenly we hear rustling of bushes from behind the stage and Taylor darts in front of me with his gun drawn.

The figure in the dark approaches us slowly and is carrying something large. It's some sort of bag or large purse. Is it a bomb?

"Stay where you are," Taylor says and cocks his gun.

"Don't shoot, man!" a man's voice says. "Everything was consensual."

What the hell?

We cautiously approach to get a better look. It's that fucker Sean carrying the Esclava basket he won. Only it's been opened and pillaged and all that's left is the ripped plastic wrap, the basket, and a bottle of that old lady lotion that smells like a skunk who got lost in the rose bushes when he went to take a shit. That stuff never sells in the salon, but Elena loves it.

"Where have you been?" I ask and he stops in his tracks like a deer in headlights. Yeah, if the deer just smoked five joints, downed a six pack and forgot he was a deer.

"Have you been smoking weed?" I ask.

"Who said?"

"I said!"

I'm expecting further conversation, but he just keeps staring at me, his eye bloodshot and glazed. Every time I think he's going to say something he just burps.

"Nah man, I lift. I can't smoke," he says, finally, and then starts to laugh through the belching. He's obviously sky high. What is it with these fuckers getting drunk and drugged at a charity event like this?

"Is Mia with you?" I ask, livid, but then I remember she was in the dance auction and that was just about the time he disappeared.

"She's not here," he says. "Just me and my basket." If he doesn't watch it, it could be just his balls in their dime sized casket.

There's laughter coming from the bushes. Two girls who are pulling down their dresses come out from the behind the stage where he just was, carrying bottles of Esclava shampoo and conditioner like prize trophies.

"Thanks!" one of the girls says, completely inebriated, waving her ultra protein conditioner around in victory.

"You earned it," he says and waves like a pageant queen who fucked the judge.

"What did she earn?" I ask.

"Really expensive shampoo!" The blonde bimp of duo says. Although, she's right. I just spent a load and a half on Ana's meadow flowers. How did hair care prices get so out of control?

"It's a hard job, but someone's gotta do it," the bimp says.

"What the hell is going on here?" I ask.

"Is this your dad, Sean?" The other one asks.

"No, I'm the food and drug administration," I say and I'm glad Ana can't see me, because I'm rolling my eyes at my low wit attempt at sarcasm.

The girls stare for a moment, and being dumb and intoxicated enough, obviously believe that the FDA means they're going to be busted for drugs and shampoo prostitution and I am that man, so they take off.

"Did those girls perform sexual favors for your shampoo?" I ask Sean, who's swaying from foot to foot.

"Hey, that shit is gold with women. I couldn't let opportunity pass me by." He tries to snap his fingers but fails five times.

"Well, neither can I." I take him by the back of the collar. "Taylor, make sure the trash makes it to the garbage can." I hand him off before I lay him out.

"Yes, Mr. Grey," Taylor says as he escorts the fucker out.

The song ends and I scurry to get to Ana as Flynn relinquishes her. I don't want some other fucker swooping in. I take both of her hands in mine and Flynn gives me a nod and a smile.

"Check mate," Flynn whispers to me as he passes.

Though I can't see his face anymore, I know the fucker is laughing delightedly as he moves away. I can read it in the subtle shake of his shoulders. What the hell is he saying? I'm sure I'll hear all about it on Monday.

"Did you miss me?" I ask as I pull her into my arms again, and I hope she can't hear the puppy dog hope in my voice.

"Of course," she smiles and so do I.

"He's much younger than I thought," she says as we dance. What does that mean? Did she expect him to be Methuselah? Or does she think he's attractive? Like young and sexy? Oh god, it was the twirls!

"He's married," I blurt out, and from the look on her face I see my comment only makes sense when in the context of the dialogue I'm having in my own mind.

"He's very indiscreet, too,"she says.

"Indiscreet?" Hell, what went down during this dance? My stomach seizes up.

"Oh yes, he told me everything."

I slow; every muscle in my body tensing and driving our dance nearly to halt. I pull back to look at her, still holding to her hand and clutching her waist.

"Well, if that's the case I'll get your bag. I'm sure you want to leave. I know you'll want nothing more to do with me." And I hold my breath waiting for the answer, still holding to her hand.

"No, he didn't tell me anything!" she says and I exhale. She's staring at me like she's examining an odd penny or a puzzle piece whose edges don't fit the spot they should. I've been stared at like this all my life, mostly in my own mirror. But, I never felt so looked at before.

"Well, good. Let's enjoy this dance." I pull her into me again and hold her as close as I can without her touching me where I can't bear for her to go. And as I inhale the scent of her hair; feel her soft skin against my cheek and the flutter of her lashes; when I feel her breath against my neck and the way her hand sits in mine, I realize that if I had nothing in my life but this moment, I'd have had everything.

"Do you want to sneak away again," I ask at the finish of two more dances. "We could go to the boathouse and watch the fireworks there." I kiss the side of her hair and whisper in her ear, "And I could fuck you so you can explode with the fireworks." Why do I feel like such a rebellious teenager when I'm with her?

"Don't you think everyone would notice?" Ana asks, shyly looking down and crinkling her nose. I think she's actually considering it.

"Yes; and just think of the scandal we'll cause."

"No scandals today, Mr. Grey. I want your family to think well of me."

"Trust me, they think you're a saint. In fact they're all watching us." I nod my head to my mother, grandmother, grandfather and Mia all grouped together and gossiping. They think they're playing it cool by acting like they're watching the dance floor. Who are they kidding? When have they ever wanted to watch that hedge fund hog Hugo Bilson sweating it up with his secretary turned fourth wife?

"Then, I need to go to the ladies room," she says.

"Why?" Don't leave me, Ana.

"If I'm being watched by an audience, I need to powder my nose." She laughs.

"Can I come with you?" I ask. "I can show you a very private bathroom buried inside the master suite."

"You are not having your way with me in your parents' bathroom."

"Why not?"

"Be have, Mr. Grey." She gives me a quick peck and peels away from me until she stretches so far I'm forced to let go of her fingertips.

"Having fun?" Mia says as she sneaks up beside me.

"Yes, actually I am," I say, realizing that tonight my sense of fun has been unearthed from its deeply dug grave. "How about you?"

"Well, my date has disappeared..."

Oh fuck. How do I tell her about Sean? "Yes, about your date..."

"I think I'm through with Sean, I really like my dance partner. He wants to take me to the ballet."

"That's good." But, then I realize it's just a new fucker I have to investigate. Why can't Mia just be a nun? It's an honored profession and health benefits are great for the brothers whose aneurisms are prevented.

"I'm so happy you found someone you love," Mia says, beaming from ear to ear, and I panic.

"Who said that?" I ask, nearly choking on the spit I just inhaled sharply. I'm suddenly terrified that the word is actually out in the air. It's bad enough in Flynn's office, but that's a contained clinical setting. I'm afraid once it's freed in reality, it might run away, get lost and never be returned to me. "I never said that word," I swallow as the unspoken truth catches in my throat.

Mia just smiles, let's out one of her carefree Mia laughs, places her hands on my face and kisses me on both my cheeks.

"You don't have to say it. You can see it written all over your face."

"You can?"

She nods.

"L'amour est grande," she says, laughing as she throws her arms whimsically in the air and twirls away from me and back into the crowd.

"En effet, ça l'est," I whisper, thinking of the night and the dance and Ana. Indeed, it is.

My blackberry vibrates and I'm pulled from the Parisian spell. It's Taylor.

"What is it?" I answer. "Something with Leila?"

"No, sir. But, there is a situation."

"Another one?" How many fucking situations can we have in one night? "What is it now?"

"Mrs. Lincoln is here. And she's talking to Ana."

Oh fuck.


	29. Chapter 29

**_Thank you so much for your kind and lovely reviews! I appreciate you all taking the time to read and write me. Will be updating the last part of Easter in Grey Hearts and Flowers and then an update for the original baby story and then this again, soon. xo_**

There isn't an exclamation point strong enough to punctuate the "oh fuck" that's pounding in my head as I rush for the tent and the explosion that is my past and my future colliding. Much like when that asteroid hit the earth, I have the potential of becoming a fossilized dinosaur in its wake. Only this cataclysmic event will be bigger and more dangerous than prehistoric end. It's a battle between good and I admit, more than slightly evil–Ana vs Elena.

"What do you mean they're talking?" I ask Taylor as I speak into my Blackberry and try to navigate through the masked crowd of party goers. Everyone's drunk and growing tired now, so they're more likely to want to flag me down for chit-chat and slower to get the fuck out of my way. It's like a goddamn obstacle course on the way to fight night. "You mean like talking talking or just talking?"

"Well, they're facing each other and lips are moving, sir." At least it's not fists and fingernails—yet.

"Are you sure Ana knows it's Elena? Maybe Elena's just checking her out, making small talk. She's wearing a mask after all—"

"Mrs. Lincoln has removed her mask, Mr. Grey."

"What? Why the hell would she do that?"

"Those things get quite hot and bothersome. And from the looks of those feathers, she didn't choose Milkie Brothers quality, sir." I swear, he's getting kick-backs by those mask makers.

"Tell me everything!" Some fucking sprinkler head nearly trips me and sends me flying into the hydrangea bushes.

"After I threw the marijuana smoking boy with the beauty basket out, I re-took my post and saw them sitting at a table."

"They're sitting? Like in chairs?" I ask, nearly knocking into a grandma contingency taking a communal tequila shot as I shoot by.

"Cute tooshy!" one of the grandmas yells.

"Yeah, I can bounce a lime off of it!" Another old woman yells and throws a wedge at my ass.

Has everyone gone fucking crazy?!

"Yes, sir. They're sitting. Their rear areas are both in chairs and they're facing one another."

"Stop looking at Ana's rear!"

"Yes, sir."

"Why didn't you stop this?"

"I swear to you, I'm not looking, sir."

"Not the rear looking; this whole situation from the get-go!"

"They were already in conversation, sir, and I thought it would cause a scene. I'm keeping watch, but from the looks of it they're calmly talking."

Oh right. Like I'm supposed to believe they're discussing the book of the month. Elena's only calm when she's about to strike. She's got ice in her veins that would survive a trip through hellfire and freeze the devil's balls off in the process. Trust me, I know.

"Champagne?" A passing waiter offers, holding out his silver tray of bubbly filled flutes.

"Do I look like I want champagne?" I ask, yelling at the waiter, and subsequently into my Blackberry, as I push past him.

"Well, I can't see you, but you sound like you could maybe use a drink, sir." What?—oh, the champagne. What an idiot.

"I don't want a drink, Taylor; I want Elena gone!"

"Do you really want me to escort her out, Mr. Grey?" He sounds a bit frightened at the prospect. Of course, the only person a man of war is afraid of is Elena.

"No, I'll handle it. Just watch them."

"What exactly am I watching for, sir?"

"Blood flying!" I hang up my phone.

"Grey, let's talk biodegradable plastics in southeast Asia," Zed Tollins, says, pointing a finger at me as he takes up an entire stone at the foot of the path that leads to the tent where my life is going to end. What the fuck? I wouldn't talk with him if I had four hundred years to spare and his fat ass could save the ozone layer by blocking the hole. Instead of stopping and asking him to move, I take a run through the grass. Yeah Zed, let's talk never and be sorry it was so soon.

Once past Zed, I hop back onto the stones and about five more people try to stop me as I now run up the candlelit path, taking two stone strides at a time and not worrying the hell about candles catching my pants up in flames, because I'm about to be set on fire anyway by my girlfriend. Why do people want to stop and talk to a man who's running, anyway? Doesn't this dissuade people at all? Fuck it; I keep running. I don't even stop when some shit teenager yells "run Forest, run" and all his friends laugh.

What was Elena thinking? It's not like she loves going to these things. Sure, she's friends with my mother and a couple of other overly plastic surgeried broads who only smile at her because they can't fully shut their lips, but I asked her specifically not to come. I trusted her to be my friend. She always went to these things so we could commiserate together and talk about all the people we hate. It was miserable really, but we were one and the same and that's what we did and it made me feel like I was connected to someone on this planet who understood me. I used to think I liked it, but now I like dancing with Ana.

After the longest fucking journey of my life, and a completion of an uphill obstacle course that rivals anything Claude ever did in the Olympics, I reach the tent and find Taylor outside.

"Where the hell are they?" I ask, but before he can answer, I hear for myself. And it's the voice of my angel telling the devil to go back to where she came from.

"And I'll give you a taste of your own medicine on behalf of the fifteen-year-old child you molested and probably fucked up even more than he already was," Ana says.

Oh hell, she just called Elena a child molester to her face. I'm having trouble lifting my jaw from the dirt at my feet and from the looks of it Elena is, too. Fuck. I was was going to try and soften that angle for Elena by saying Ana didn't agree with her methodology of training younger men for sadomasochistic activities before they finished puberty, but hell the big M is out there now.

Just as I rush inside to try and prevent bloodshed by way of claw strikes, Ana darts toward me with an angry scowl on her face as Elena still sits motionless at a table with her mouth still wide open, seemingly in shock, looking as I've rarely seen her before—beaten at her own game.

"Ana, I say, as she comes barreling toward me and the exit. "There you are. I was so worried." I try to reach for her, but she brushes me off and rushes past me and outside the tent. Shit, she's mad. I give Elena a look that tells her I'll fucking deal with her later and turn immediately to take off after Ana.

"Ana!" I call out and finally she stops and faces me as I make my way to her. "What happened?"

"Why don't you ask your _ex_?" she snaps, crossing her arms and keeping herself away from me.

"I'm asking you." Damn it, why does she get like this? Why does she always insist on vilifying Elena and using the ex card? What happened was ages ago and I agreed to all of it. Well, maybe I wasn't hip hip hurray for the vibrating strap-on, but still... Why the fuck did Elena do this to me?

We face off under that apple tree where so many others have kissed, but instead we fight. And if I was still a boy watching from my bedroom window, I'd know that the man I was laughing at down below was burnt toast.

"What did she say, Ana?" I almost don't want to know. I don't think Elena would purposely ruin this for me, but I'm not so sure anymore.

"She's threatening to come after me if I hurt you again. Probably with one of her whips," Ana huffs.

Relief sweeps through me and I actually have to laugh at the ridiculousness. That's what she cornered Ana to say? This big secret to-do was about her protecting me? Elena is losing her mind. My former sexual partners are falling like mental dominos these days. And all because I'm dating.

"You think this is funny?" Ana hisses as she turns away.

"Come on, surely the irony of that isn't lost on you."

She turns back to me.

"This isn't funny."

"No, of course not. I'm sorry. I'll talk to her."

"You'll do no such thing," she points her finger. It's an order.

I step back. I haven't been ordered like that for years. Ironically, the last time was by the woman this fight is all about. I'm bewildered by the feelings coming up from this, but the one that most confuses me is that I kind of like it. She's claiming me as her own and she's willing to fight for me.

"Look, I know you're tied up financially with her," she softens and then smirks. "Forgive the pun."

We both have to crack a chuckle on that one. Then she looks at me for a long, hard moment, almost as if she's wrestling with something in her mind. Oh god, Ana, don't leave me over this. She's nothing to me. You're everything.

"What do you want, Ana?" I ask, my voice is softer and more fragile than I intended, because it's laced with the desperate hope she's not going to say goodbye.

"To pee," she says.

"To pee?"

"Yes; I need to use the restroom. That's where I was going. Can I do that, please?" She's tearing up, and I may be novice at the whole boyfriend thing, but I don't think she's crying because she has to go so bad.

"Don't be mad," I sigh. "I really didn't think she was going to be here. In fact, she told me she wasn't coming." I reach out and brush her quivering lip with my thumb. "Please, don't let her ruin our evening. She's old news." I tip her chin up with my fingers and gently kiss her. And I realize I'm kissing her under that lover's apple tree. Maybe my toast isn't completely burnt after all. Maybe it can be saved by a few scrapes of the knife, a pat of butter and some sweet jam.

"Why don't I accompany you to the ladies room?" I ask, holding out my arm for her to take. "So there won't be any further interruptions." She tries not to smile, but she can't help it, as she takes my arm and I lead her to the restrooms.

"Are you waiting in line?" some woman with a chin mole the size of an alligator egg asks as I watch my Ana's porta-potty door.

"No," I say. "I'm just watching."

"Why are you watching the door?" What a nosey broad.

"Because that's what I do," I say. Stick to your reptilian kind, lady.

My Blackberry rings and I pull it out to have a look. Fuck, it's Elena. Ana doesn't want me talking to her now. No, she didn't say that exactly. She said for me not to talk to her as in initiate a conversation. But, Elena is calling me... I stare at the phone as it rings and Elena's name flashes on the screen.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" I answer, not able to take it anymore, as I step away from the lady with the mole and the burning ears to have this conversation.

"Christian, nothing happened. Anastasia erupted for no reason. We were simply talking—"

"Listen, I know the reason—it's you! And you know that, too. I told you.

"She called me a child molester! She was well out of line—"

"And so were you for lying to my face and coming tonight!"

"Christian, I did this for you."

"For me? How the fuck was this for me?"

"I'm the only real friend you have in this world. I wanted her to know that she couldn't hurt you again and get away with it."

"That's my business, not yours."

"As your friend, I will watch out for you, even when you're too confused to watch out for yourself. You can trust me to do what's best for you."

"Ana is what's best for me!"

She sighs, like she's talking to a child who doesn't know any better. "You've only known this girl for a short time and you've changed your whole life because of her. It's troubling to know she could have that much power over you." She says power like she's trying to push a hot button on my need for control.

"Elena—"

"I've never seen you run after a girl like that with your tail between your legs. I could barely believe what I was witnessing—you chasing her out of that tent. That's not you. She's emasculating you and I'm afraid you're too love struck to see it."

"Leave her alone, Elena! This is the first real relationship I've ever had. I don't want you jeopardizing it with some misplaced concern."

"You were miserable when she left, I just wanted her to know if she did it again—"

"I mean it, Elena! Stay away!"

"I just care about you so much, Christian. I'm sorry if I was out of line, but you know you've always been able to trust me. Do you want for me to stop being your friend?"

"No, of course not." I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration. Though, I'm wondering if that's where this is headed. If Ana gives me a "her or me" ultimatum we all know her's walking the plank.

"Christian, just remember I'll be here for you even if she's not anymore."

I literally shake and feel ill hearing those words. Ana gone is something I can't face.

"Listen, I have to go now, Elena. Good night." I hang up, not waiting for her to say goodbye, and turn to see Ana standing there. Fuck. She heard.

"How's old news?" she asks and I'm prepared for a fight, but she seems a bit calmer and more collected since our last episode. Maybe she really did need to pee that bad.

"Cranky," I say. "And in the archives."

"Sounded hot off the presses to me."

"Ana—"

"What?" she looks up at me, daring me with those eyes that pierce my soul and make me feel...

There are a dozen good punishments I would inflict on a submissive for all of this talkback right about now, but the only one I desire to administer is a swift kick to my own head.

"Do you want to dance some more?" I ask, hoping she'll think back to how special it was—just her and me on the twinkle lit floor in a world of our own. "Or do you want to go?" I glance at my watch. "Fireworks start shortly if you want to stay and watch them. Whatever you want." I reach out and brush my hand down her cheek. "Whatever you want I want, Ana." And I'm not just talking about an explosion of colors over the bay; I'm talking about my life.

"I love fireworks," she says and her eyes lighting lovelier than any burst of color we'll see tonight.

"Then, we'll stay." I take her hand and bring it to my lips.

"She cares about you," she says, though her voice is soft this time; wistful.

"Yes, and I about her... as a friend."

"It's more than that for her," she says and I gently hold to her hand as she watches me, seemingly trying to figure out the puzzle of Elena and me. What is she saying? That Elena loves me? I haven't thought about Elena like that for years. She's a dominatrix and I'm dominant—or was—but whatever the fuck I am now would never match with Elena.

"It's complicated with Elena," I say. "We have a history. She's a friend; that's all." I touch her face. "Please forget about her."

"Okay," she nods, but I can tell she's still not convinced. And she's planted a seed of doubt in me about Elena as well.

I told Elena I loved her once and only once. I was a thoroughly beaten, well fucked seventeen-year-old boy who craved the bite of her cane and her attention. It was her birthday, so I bought her a book I thought she may like and wrote out a card. I remember the way her eyes changed when she read the words I wrote. I remember what she did to me in response; how she shamed me for feeling such things. But, that's not an event I want to remember right now.

"Let's dance?" I say and I tightly intertwine my fingers with Ana's and lead her out onto the floor. And I don't let go of it for the entire song—because we're dancing and because I'm afraid if I let go she'll run away.

"Anastasia," my father says, stepping up to us as the song we're waltzing to finishes. "I was wondering if you'd do me the honor," he holds out a hand and I reluctantly release her as she takes it.

I recapture my spot at the sidelines and watch. My father is a dashing man. He can dance better than me; he's funny; he's warm. It's easy to see why my mother loves him; which makes it harder to see how Ana could ever really love me.

"She's beautiful tonight, Christian," my mother says, standing next to me, nursing another of her one too many glasses of champagne.

"Yes, she is," I say, not being able to take my eyes off of Ana.

"It's not my place..." she says. "But, I think she's perfect for you."

"Perfect?" And it's less of a question and more of a statement. I watch as Ana listens to whatever story my father is telling her. I hope it's nothing too embarrassing. Or too haunting. Or anything that might make her think twice about me.

"The kind of girl you could grow old with," Grace says.

"Mom, please. We've known each other a little over a month." And as I say it, I realize those are the words Elena gave me, not my own. I shift my footing and for a moment I let those words go and dare to imagine that month with Ana turning into a year, turning into decades and then to that day that Ana and I are old and gray and still dancing under the moonlight and chandelier sparkles to Sinatra. In my vision she's even more lovely than the day we met. And I'll have lived my life well, because every line on her face is from a smile I put there.

"I'm just saying, I think she could make you happy," Grace says.

"Me too, mom," I say as I watch my father dance her across the floor. I know that's true, the problem is I don't believe she could ever truly be happy with me.

"Enough dancing with old men," I say as I steal my date back from my father.

"Less of the old son; I have my moments." He conspiratorially winks at Anastasia and then disappears to find my mom again.

"I think my father likes you," I say as I pull her into my arms and my world is right again because she's in it.

"What's not to like?" she asks with a playful grin.

"Good point well made, Miss Steele," I say as the band starts to play _It Had to Be You _and I sweep her across the dance floor once more.

She looks up at me so sweetly, but I can tell she's hesitant about something, and that makes me nervous.

"What's wrong, Ana?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything." My heart is pounding. I can feel it all the way in the pit of my gut.

"Can I rest my head against your shoulder?" she asks. "Don't worry, I remember where the no-go areas are and I won't touch. It's just such sweet song and I..."

"Yes, of course." My breath catches as she softly lays her head on my shoulder and we dance slowly.

"No one has, you know," I say, holding her close as we move.

"What?" she asks, not moving her head. "Laid their head on your shoulder?"

"Yes, that." I kiss her hair. "And given me a thrill like you," I say, in reference to the lyrics of the playing song.

"Back at you, Mr. Grey." And I can feel her smiling as she buries her face in my neck.

The masks are off. MC Ron has made the announcement that we can all return now to our originally scheduled faces to enjoy the fireworks show.

Thank God I'm through with being Zorro!

"It's good to see you again, Miss Steele," I say as I take her mask and set it with mine on the table as she re-fluffs her hair.

"I never went anywhere," she says.

"You did for a moment," I exhale remembering the pain of that day and the joy I feel standing here with her again. "Don't go anywhere ever again, okay?" And I can't conceal the desperation in my voice.

"Okay," she says and she straightens a lock of my unruly hair that's falling against my brow.

There's a crowd gathered to watch the show as we arrive on the lawn. Everyone is coupled up by now. Whether you came with your date or you're leaving with someone else's, fireworks are a coupling up event. Perhaps that's why I never stayed to this point in the evening. I always watched the show through the back window as I was driven away.

I wrap my arms around Ana's shoulders and I feel her shiver against me.

"You okay, baby? Cold?" I hold her tighter and kiss the top of her head. God, has anything ever felt so nice as holding her like this?

"I'm okay, she says, but the chill against her skin is evident in her goose pimples, so I take off my jacket and wrap it around her with care, then pull her into me again. This doesn't go unnoticed by some of the surrounding ladies—and ladies is a term I use so loosely the letters fall off are replaced with piranhas, instead. I catch Lily out of the corner of my eye snickering and mouthing off. I swear she whores out her teeth as a can opener. A couple of girls I went to high school with do the same. I guess that's the dateless contingency over there on the north lawn. No ladies, I never gave a girl my letterman's jacket, or the letters of the fraternity I didn't join to anyone before, but tonight I gave a girl the warmth of my tux coat and it feels so much more. And fuck, it's a turn-on to see everyone watching Ana wearing my oversized clothes.

At the stroke of the hour Beethoven blasts from speakers and the fireworks begin. Much like Ana, it came suddenly out of nowhere and it's spectacular.

There's an explosion of pink and purple and golden stardust that rains down as the show really gets underway. I can see her gleefully laughing as I watch the colors explode in her eyes. She's impressed. Hell, if this impresses her, I should put a fireworks show on for her nightly. There's an idea. Although, it sure feels like fireworks every night she's with me.

"This is amazing," she laughs, covering her mouth in a jubilant glee I thought only existed in the play of happy children or fairytales.

"It is." I think I was right. It only does exist in fairytales and we're living one right now.

I wrap my arms around her tighter and pull her closer. I want to feel her warmth and weight against me and I want to nuzzle her hair. She squeezes my arms every time a firework sounds; holding to me as I hold her and it makes me feel needed and wanted and able to protect her and I like being those things to her. I lean down and put my cheek to hers as we watch the grand finale and as the colors explode in grandiose style above us in the night sky, I marvel that this is the simplest, loveliest moment I've ever had.

"Ladies and gentleman, I hope you have enjoyed the show," MC Ron declares over loudspeakers. "Just one note to add at the end of this wonderful evening; your generosity has raised a total of one million eight hundred and fifty-three thousand dollars!"

The crowd erupts again, and a message lights up in silver across the sky,"Thank You from Coping Together."

"Oh Christian, that was wonderful," Ana says, still watching the sky that is now dark and only left with a haze of smoke that the beautiful show left behind. And I hope that I'm not one day soon met with that same fate.

"Time to take you home," I say, and it probably sounds like nothing to Miss Steele, because she probably didn't notice that I didn't say I'd take her to "my apartment" or "my place" or use a "my" of any kind at all. She also probably doesn't realize that I've never called the place I live a home before and that it's not a home without her.

I look to Taylor surveying the crowd and he holds up a hand telling me to wait. "But, we need to stay here a moment while the people clear."

"Is everything okay?" she asks, turning in my arms.

"Yes; though I think the fireworks have aged Taylor a hundred years." I laugh.

"Doesn't he like fireworks?"

"Of course; but it makes his job more difficult." Actually, I think he loves them. It sounds like battle going on all around him. I think it really just excites him too much and he overheats.

"So, Aspen..." I say.

"I haven't paid for my bid."

"You can send a check. I know the address," I smirk.

"You were really mad?"

"Yes, I was." But, fuck that was hot afterwards.

"I blame you and your toys," she says, playfully wagging her finger at me and I grab it and gently nip the tip and she giggles.

"Oh my god!" I hear Lily mutter in the distance in response and I nearly spit a laugh. But, I won't give her the satisfaction of acknowledgement.

"You were quite overcome, Miss Steele." I smile, wickedly. "Incidentally, where are they?" I kiss her hand and return it to her side.

"The silver balls? In my bag."

"I'd like them back. They are far too potent a device to be left in your innocent hands."

Without knowing it, I think I just issued a challenge. Damn it, I'm always stepping into land minds around Ana. It's a wonder I still have any legs to stand on at all. Actually, I don't think I do. Around her, I think I'm just balancing on a tightrope with my dick.

"Worried I might be quite overcome again, maybe with somebody else?" she asks, raising a brow and then twisting her lips into a smirk.

"I hope that's not going to happen," I say. The thought of her with anyone else kills me and will kill them as well. "But no, Ana. I want all your pleasure," my lips curl around the final word.

"You mean you don't want me to touch myself without you there?" she says, breathy and with an air of seduction as she runs a finger down my forearm, down my hand and along my pointer finger, until she gently squeezes the tip of it. She's definitely not playing fair, but fuck.

"No," I say, but I'm getting hard just thinking about it. In fact, maybe I should roll up the divider and have her touch herself all the way home in the car while I watch.

"Don't you trust me?" She lightly brushes her fingers down the side of my hip and across my erection. Thank fuck it's dark so my family doesn't get any surprise photos of this on their sneaky iPhones.

"Implicitly. Now, can I have them back?" I ask, leaning in close and nipping her ear. Damn, if I'm not careful we're going to have sex out here in front of everyone on the lawn. That'll sure get Lily and her herd talking.

"I'll think about it," she says and suddenly pulls away, leaving me hard, horny and completely at her mercy.

Lord, this woman is the end of me.

Club style music starts playing over loud speakers. Isn't there some sort of noise ordinance to contend with? Thank the great pie in the sky that MC Ron has finally left the stage. I'm sure they're prying his fingers off the stage door as we speak as he's begging them to let him tell just one more joke. Shit, but now he's been replaced with some long haired boy in an ill fitting tux that could be Chance from YouTube's less stately cousin. The last thing I want to dance to right now is techno hip-hop. But shit, maybe Ana does... She just got out of college, so maybe she likes this. All the college kids dance to this, don't they? Of course they all fuck to it, too, and I'm thankful she wasn't doing any of that. Still, I don't want her to think I'm not a fun guy. I mean I'm not, but still... The photographer would definitely dance to this shit. Damn that fucker.

"Christian, why are you staring at the dance floor so intensely?" she asks.

"Just checking out the scene. I just get focused when I do that." What the fuck kind of word drool is blubbering out of my mouth? Do people say scene anymore? I don't think I've ever said that before, even when people said it and I'm not sure if they ever really did say it or it was just a commercialized thing in teen rom-coms. "I hear he's a cool DJ." I know I've never said that before.

Ana giggles.

"What?" I ask, laughing with her because she just makes me want to laugh with her. But, why is she laughing at me?"

"Hearing you say cool DJ is kind of funny." She's still giggling.

"What's funny about it? That's what I heard."

"From who?"

"My mother." My mother? Why did I say my mother? And Ana's still laughing. "Well, she hired him," I mumble.

Do you want to dance?" I ask, trying to get off subject.

"I'm really tired, Christian. I'd like to go, if that's okay."

"Yes, of course." Thank fuck!

I put my arm around her and glance at Taylor. He gives me a nod that says we're clear and free to go and I start to move her along.

"You're not going, are you?" Mia says, bouncing up to us like she's riding a pogo stick spiked with rocket fuel. "The real music's just beginning. Come on, Ana." She grabs for her hand.

"Mia," I say, pulling Ana out of the way of her pouncing bouncing. "Anastasia's tired. We're going home." There it is again—home. "Besides, we have a big day tomorrow."

Ana looks up to me, questioningly. She has no idea of the surprises I have in store—Depo, then the deep sea.

Mia pouts a bit, but a few of her friends are already dancing to, oddly, a song about whips and chains and S&amp;M by Rihanna. I really have to get Ana out of here before it turns me on and turns her off.

"You must come by sometime next week," Mia says. "Maybe we can hit the mall?" The mall? Why the hell would Ana want to go to the mall when she has a personal shopper at Neiman's she already refuses purchases from? Of course, leave it to Ana to choose Gap over Gucci. But, over my dead body will I send Ana and my sister to place crawling with young derelicts shopping for jeans that don't cover their underwear, flavored pretzels and easy sex.

"Sure, Mia." Ana says and they kiss cheeks.

"What have I told you about the hoodlums at malls, Mia?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes, then grabs my lapels and smiles up at me. She's one of the few people I trust this close to me, since I held her against me as a baby and I've loved her since the day she came home. I trust her with the boundaries.

"I like seeing you this happy," she says sweetly and kisses me on the cheek. "Au revoir!" She waves and disappears in the gaggle of her friends on the disco ball lit dance floor.

I wave to her and purposely give fair Lily a smile as I put my arm around Ana and kiss her on the side of her head just before escorting away.

"We'll say goodnight to my parents before we leave. Come." I take her hand and lead her through the crowd to my folks, who are saying their share of goodbyes and receiving congratulations for a night well done.

"We're going home now," I say to them. Throwing another _home_ in for the run.

"Please do come again, Anastasia, it's been lovely having you here," Grace says and gives Ana a hug that nearly splits her in two.

"Mother, please," I pull Ana back.

"Yes, don't be a stranger," Carrick says.

"You should come out and stay some weekend," Grace says. "Christian can show you his old room."

I think I can see Ana gulp and I have to fight my snicker.

I have to practically pry her from my family; they don't want to let her go. She has that effect on us Greys.

Tonight was nice—more than nice. When I think of the dancing, and the fireworks, and of course the fucking, I'm left with a smile on my face. It was so much fun. I've only allowed myself that relaxed enjoyment when I'm alone up in the clouds or out at sea. I've never shared that with another person before.

"Are you warm enough?" I ask, looking down at Ana who's back in her satin wrap again. I wish she was still wearing my jacket. I do like her in my clothes.

"Yes, thank you." she says as she yawns.

"I really enjoyed this evening, Anastasia. Thank you."

"Me too, some parts more than others." She grins and digs her teeth into that lip .

"Don't bite your lip," I grin, my words dripping with intent that I hope leave her dripping as well.

"What did you mean about a big day tomorrow?" she asks.

"Dr. Greene is coming to sort you out. Plus, I have a surprise for you." I'm not going to tell her about the sailing or how much it means to me to take her out onto the sea. She'll see for herself tomorrow.

"Dr. Greene!" she says, rather abruptly, halting us.

"Yes." Is she pissed?

"Why?"

"Because I hate condoms," I whisper, so the entire exodus of the event doesn't know the details of our birth control.

"It's my body," she says, quite pissy with me. Shit, I keep forgetting that regular boyfriends don't set up appointments for their girlfriend's gynecologists at their apartments like this.

"It's mine, too," I whisper, brushing her hip with fingers. Oh please, Anastasia, don't sentence me to a life of latex!

She looks at me a moment, examining my eyes and trying to read behind them, I'm sure. But, there's nothing behind this. I just really fucking hate condoms and I love my girl. And I want to feel her warm and wet around me as we make love. Love. Fuck, there it is again. It's getting harder and harder not to say it out loud.

Suddenly, she reaches her hand up and grabs for my collar. I flinch, not only from fear that she may touch me, but also that she may choke me to death after the stunt I pulled. The other hand joins the first and she undoes my bow tie quite roughly, leaving it to hang on both sides as she unbuttons my collar and pulls it apart. She then drops her hands and stares at the smattering of chest hair that peeks out my now open shirt.

What the fuck was that about?

"You look hot like this," she whispers and looks up at me with a flaming gaze.

Holy shit.

"I need to get you home. Come." Yes, please, let's come. Damn, I don't even know if we'll make it home. The temperature is rising all over the place, but especially down below.

"Sir, for Miss Steele," Sawyer says as he approaches and hands me an envelope as Taylor helps Ana inside the car.

Who the fuck is writing Ana? It better not be Bent and his traveling band of Dicks. Or worse, a new admirer I know nothing about. This is probably just the beginning. Fuckers will pop out of everywhere to get my girl. Normally I would take any mail for a sub and read it, or in this case burn it, but fuck that's not allowed anymore. Is it?

"It's addressed to you," I say, quite begrudgingly as I climb into the back of the car and hand the envelope to Ana. "One of the staff gave it to Sawyer. No doubt from yet another ensnared heart." I have to purse and twist my lips so the venom doesn't shoot out.

Ana stares at the note—far too long for my anxiety to take. Finally, she opens it. After a moment she gasps and puts a hand to her mouth in shock. What is the fucker saying? Is he propositioning her? She didn't even gasp like that when I showed her my playroom. In fact, she was quite calm. What kind of sick taboo pornography is in that thing?

"You told her?" she blurts out.

"Told who, what?" It's a woman?!

"That I call her Mrs. Robinson," she snaps.

"It's from Elena?" I ask, with a gasp of my own. What the fuck is this woman trying to do to me? "This is ridiculous." I run my fingers through my hair. Is she purposely trying to destroy my relationship? "I'll deal with her tomorrow. Or Monday."

Damn it! I stare out the window. She says she's afraid I'll get hurt, but she seems pretty intent on making sure that it's going to happen. Why?

"Until next time,"Ana says, and for a brief horrible second I think she's telling me goodbye, but she's handing the balls back to me in their black velvet pouch.

I have to smile as I take them and put them in my jacket pocket. Anastasia is forever unexpected. I reach for her hand and squeeze it, holding it in my lap so I can continue to softly brush her knuckles. The feel of her brings warmth and calm to me like nothing else can.

She yawns as she unbuckles her seatbelt and gently crawls into my lap.

"What's wrong? Do you need something?"

"Nothing. Just you."

I close my eyes and smile.

"You know you should be wearing her seatbelt."

"I know," she sleepily says as she curls into me and falls asleep against my shoulder. And I hold her like this the entire way home.

"We're here, sir," Taylor says, opening the door. I guess I fell asleep as well.

"Do I need to carry you in?" I whisper into Ana's ear and she starts to wake.

"No, I can walk myself." She yawns and I smile, shaking my head. She always wants to do things her way.

"It's been a long day, huh?" I ask her as she leans against me in the elevator. She's so warm and she smells so good. The scent of the meadow is still fresh in her hair.

She nods.

"Tired?" I ask.

She nods again.

"You're not very talkative."

She nods again and I smile.

"Come. I'll put you to bed." I take her hand and lead her, behind Sawyer, through the open doors. It has been a long day and though I'd like nothing more than to fuck her into the next century, I'm looking forward to snuggling her to sleep tonight and waking up with my limbs tangled around hers and my nose in her hair in the morning.

"Sir," Sawyer says, stopping us abruptly with a hand up in the air, just before we enter the foyer.

"What is it?"

He doesn't say anything to me for a moment as he's talking into his radio on his sleeve.

"Will do, T," he says and turns to face us. "Mr. Grey, the tires on Ms. Steele's Audi have been slashed and paint thrown all over it."

I don't have to ask what happened or who did it; I know.

Leila.


	30. Chapter 30

**_Thank you for your reviews on this story and my others. You guys are great! And I love your opinions for my other story on what the twins should be. Hardest decision ever! More to come on this and the others! xo_**

"Holy shit," I say to myself as I stand in the garage, staring at Ana's car completely destroyed before me, but there's definitely nothing holy about it. The tires are slashed, the windows are shattered, and there's spray paint all over. Most of the marks are violent streaks or haphazard splatters thrown in a rage I can't fathom coming from Leila. And though I want to deny it's her, I know better. I now recognize the pain of a shattered heart.

"Mr. Grey, there's something etched by the driver's side door," Taylor says, pointing to markings that look to be left by a key.

"What does it say?" I ask and his expression grows grim.

"I think it's a message for you, Mr. Grey." He steps away from the car so I can see whatever that message is for myself.

I have to kneel to read the words meticulously carved out beneath the door handle, and for a moment I wonder if she chose this particular spot on purpose in order to bring me to my knees.

Taylor shines a flashlight and I blow the dust of paint and metal that cling to the etchings and squint to make the letters out.

"_Your Lovely, Sir?_" I read, and as the words leave me a chill rolls up my spine.

"_I hope I am to your satisfaction tonight, Sir," Leila said with downcast eyes, modestly standing before me in the great room in pink satin lingerie. I liked the color against her skin, but decided that the next time I'd select for her a softer shade of blush. As I examined her form, she teetered back and forth on sky high stilettos that I imagined would soon be wrapped around my head as I fucked her senseless, shackled, in my playroom. No matter the color of the lingerie, it wouldn't stay on for long._

_"You are lovely," I said as my eyes ran up and down her body. I was heating up and cooling down at once. In order to do what I do, you have to dance on the knife edge of fire and ice._

_"But, am I your lovely, Sir?" she asked and I was a bit unnerved. There was something more in her question than I was comfortable with. The lilt in her voice; the slight tremble of her hands; the way she asked me if she was mine that inferred something romantically beyond our Top and bottom roles—it was all troubling. And the man standing before her didn't like to be questioned._

_"You will accept a compliment when given," I ordered as I stepped closer to her._

_"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir." She dipped her head and her honey brown tresses spilled across her shoulders and over her breasts._

_"Look at me," I said as I cupped her chin with my fingers and tipped her head up so her eyes would have to meet mine. She was teary and this upset me greatly, because I knew where this weepy behavior lead. It happened with all of my long-term subs. They wanted walks on some fucking beach at god awful sunset and rose petals scattered on some damn canopied bed. All the hearts and flowers shit. They wanted what I couldn't give them and then they had to go. She would, too. And she was such a good submissive, what a pain in the ass it would be to find a new one._

_"I'm sorry, Sir."_

_"Apology accepted," I said, as thoughts of possible punishments ran through my head. "Now, drop to your knees."_

_Your lovely, Sir?_ I touch the words on Ana's car. Leila knows the answer to this question. And I lose my breath knowing Ana is in danger because of it.

#######

The walls are red, yes. But, not the blood red imagined in a fiery scene or the deep mahogany held in shadow against the well polished wood that frames the fantasy I create. They're not sweet like the dripping flesh of a summer cherry nor do they resemble the heart. And though these walls with differing mood and music and light can be many shades—be it rage or passion or fear—when the lights are full up you see that they're really all just one. And the man looking at them right now has a lipstick map drawn on his body of the very same color.

I stand in the center of my playroom, surrounded by the box of red walls that used to bring me comfort, but used to ended the moment Ana left me. I'm alone, but then again that's all I ever was in here. Sure, there was another person present, but it was just noise, distraction, nothing... until there was Ana and there was suddenly everything.

I'm supposed to be looking for signs of Leila in here, but all I see are ghosts. It's odd to be in here in a tuxedo with the lights full up, out of scene. It's like a strange macabre theatre after the show is over and the audience has gone away and the only life left in the place is you and a cockroach, simply because it survived something it wasn't supposed to. Cockroaches always do. And that's a feeling I know well.

The ghosts I'm seeing aren't only the ones born in the playroom. Looking forward to a future with Ana has me seeing my past. I've been thinking a lot about that last day—the last one I would ever see my mother. They put me, kicking and screaming, into an ambulance. I looked out the small back window and saw her lifeless form being wheeled into a waiting vehicle, covered by a thin white sheet. I was so small, but I remember it like it was yesterday. "She can't breathe! She can't breathe! My mommy can't breathe!" I wailed and somebody held me back and tried to comfort me, but how do you comfort a child when you're taking his mother away?

They took me to the hospital and her to a place I wished I could hold my breath and go. I tried that. At four. In my hospital bed that night. But, eventually, I just had to breath again. "I sorry, I breathed Mommy." I cried to myself and those were the last words I spoke for two years. And I've never been able to fully forgive myself for ever taking a breath.

"Sir."

I startle at the sound of that name in this room, but soon realize it's only Taylor. Though Taylor calling me _sir_ in here is its own kind of terrifying.

"Did you find something?" I ask, noticing the illuminated wall of belts and how much more desirable they look in the dark, especially now in the days AA (After Ana, I tell the timeline of my life in AA and BA now).

"There's no trace of Leila throughout the apartment. I've ordered a wider search of the cabinets and closets and whatnot, but it appears she's gone, sir."

"Stop saying that."

"What, sir?"

"That _sir_ business. Not in here." I give him a pointed look.

"Sorry, sir—I mean, Mr. Grey."

I move to the wall and run my fingers over the leather of the belts. The one I used on Ana has been destroyed, but there are so many others.

"Taylor?" I ask as I feel the chill of studded brass on my favorite one. The belt I use when I really want to leave marks.

"Yes, Mr. Grey?"

"Did I do this to her?" I ask, not able to let the belt go.

"I don't think she's well..." he says.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I'm just not sure, Mr. Grey."

"Thank you for your honesty," I respond, dryly.

"It isn't your fault, Mr. Grey," he says. He's trying to be reassuring, but I know he knows the truth. He saw everything. With all of them. He's the one person who knows firsthand who I really am.

"Shouldn't you check on the men's progress with the search?" I ask, effectively dismissing him as I turn from the wall of belts. I can't look at them anymore.

He nods and heads for the door, but pauses just before he reaches the knob and turns back to face me.

"Mr. Grey..."

"Yes, what is it?"

He opens his mouth, but for a moment nothing comes out as he weighs his words.

"You're not like that with Miss Steele," he says.

"Ok." I say and I try to swallow back the emotion that catches in my throat. "Why are you telling me that?"

"I just thought you needed to know, sir."

I look at him for a moment and I'm at a loss. I feel a bit emotional and I don't want to be emotional with Taylor. Especially not in a playroom setting.

"What did I tell you about calling me _sir_ in here?" I ask, trying to deflect, but I think the catch in my throat is betraying my efforts to hide emotion, and Taylor looks so fucking delighted by that fact.

"Yes, Mr. Grey." He smiles and nods and then leaves, and once again I'm all alone, surrounded by a box of red walls that feel like they're closing in on me.

#######

"Taylor overreacted," I say as I open the doors to the foyer and suddenly there's a gun in my face. I nearly have a heart attack on the spot, but before myocardial infarction sets in, I see it's just Sawyer. Jesus Christ. I give him a look and he puts his weaponry down immediately. Thankfully he's not as quick with the trigger as he is with the draw. I would wonder about quick-to-the-draw issues in other areas of his life, but I don't want to think about his yippee skippy cowboy and pony show at all. Although, I'm especially not pleased about his fast hand action now that I'm realizing he's been alone with Ana in a boxed-in location for twenty-seven minutes and too many fucking seconds.

"Sorry, sir. Protecting Miss Steele, sir." Why does he talk like we're at boot camp? Taylor probably encourages this. The barracks back and forth aids in those war-gasms.

"At ease," I say and wave my hand, telling him to get the fuck out of my way so the real commander can get to his girl.

"Yes, sir!" And he steps away.

I look to Ana, who stands under the Madonna and Child paintings. Lord, what those mothers have seen in their day. They better not have seen fast hands in the last twenty-seven minutes!

"Oh Christian," Ana says, starting to tear up and I can see that she's trembling.

"Ana, it's okay," I say as I pull her into me, allowing her head to rest against my chest, as her arms wrap just beneath my waist. I would normally flinch, but her resting against me feels nice and needed for both of us. "Come on baby, let's get you to bed." I kiss her head and stroke her back.

"Bed? But what about what happened?"

"It's okay now."

"I was so worried," she says, and tucks in closer.

"You were never in danger. I made sure of that." I kiss her head again.

"I wasn't worried about me. I was worried about you." Worried about me? It feels like a revelation.

"I'm sorry, baby. I know we're all a little jumpy." I give Sawyer the stink eye as I hold her to me.

"Honestly, your exes are proving very challenging, Mr. Grey."Ana snorts a laughs.

"I know." Jesus, she's right; everyone's losing their minds over my love life. I wanted our date tonight to be like an episode of _The Bachelor _and I got my wish. It was the most romantic night of my life and the psychotic exes came back to tell all.

"Come." I let her go and take her by the hand to lead her through the great room.

"Taylor is checking cupboards and closets to be safe. I don't think she's here," I say as we walk toward my bedroom.

"Why would she be?"

"Exactly." I don't want to fill Ana's head with this shit. She got a glimpse of who I am before; if she saw everything, she'd be gone for good.

"Can she get in?" she asks.

"I don't see how. But, Taylor is overly cautious," I say, all the while giving dark corners and shadowed places an extra moment of inspection as we pass.

"Did you search your playroom?"

"Yes. It was locked," I say, definitely not wanting to get into all that. "But, Taylor and I checked."

"Do you want a drink or anything?" I ask, stopping and motioning to the bar. Damn, all those candles are still there by the piano, all blown out by that fire hose now. It looks like an all saints mass gone wild took place in my living room. At least the Madonnas can't see this. Oh fuck, but what if Leila saw? No wonder she attacked Ana's car. The only time I ever lit a candle for her was to cover her bits and tits in hot wax. All this would be enough for a sadomasochistic orgy of Guinness record setting proportions.

"No," Ana stops and yawns. "Not thirsty."

"But, you're sleepy."

"Yes, you wore me out," she leans against my shoulder and giggles which immediately has a calming effect on me. All the world is a better place when Ana laughs. I take that back, all my world... The rest of the world can get their own goddamn giggles; Ana's are mine.

"Well then, let's get you to bed." I kiss her hand and then walk her to my bedroom. I want to wear her out some more, but she really looks to be exhausted. And there's a lot more work ahead with this Leila situation tonight. I have to stay focused. Though, burying myself in Ana sounds like a better idea.

On arrival, I grab a t-shirt for her to wear from my drawer and when I look over at her she's shyly fighting a smile.

"What is it?" I ask, bemused and amused, and intrigued, as I set the t-shirt on my bed and then move behind her to unzip the back of her dress.

"I just didn't know..."

"Didn't know what?" Didn't know if she wanted to stay? Didn't know if she wanted to have sex? Didn't know if she still loves me? Fuck. Not knowing what she just didn't know is killing me, I know that!

"Didn't know if I would be sleeping, for sure, in your bedroom..."

"Why wouldn't you?" I ask, kissing her shoulder. I then nuzzle the part of her neck that just meets her hair, pausing a moment to take in the scent of her.

"Because, before... You didn't want me to..."

"This isn't before, Ana," I say and I turn her to face me. "This will never be before again."

"I liked before," she says and smiles. "But, I like again, better."

"Me, too," I say and slide the dress from her shoulders so it drops to the floor. My dick just took the elevator ride straight to the Top of the Rock upon witnessing it. "Besides, we broke the bed upstairs, if you recall. It's not safe for you to sleep lopsided."

"I recall that event quite well," she twists her gorgeous lips into a smile. "What happens if you sleep lopsided?"

"You risk sliding off, cracking your head and having amnesia and I don't want to take the chance you'll forget all about me."

"So purely selfish reasons?" She smirks.

"Purely."

She leans forward and touches my face. "I could never forget you, Mr. Grey." She smiles as she strokes my skin. "Not in a thousand lifetimes." I hope the warmth I'm feeling inside doesn't escape into a schoolgirl blush.

"Have my annoyances been so seared into your memory?"

"Among other things..." She smiles wickedly.

"As much as I'd like to sear in additional remembrances, you're exhausted." I kiss her on her forehead and then grab my t-shirt from the bed. "And your décolletage is distracting me. Here, put this on." She laughs as I hand it to her.

"You find my décolletage distracting, do you?"

"Among other things..." I smile and she reciprocates.

She unhooks her bra, sliding the straps down her arms, the cups softly pulling away from her breasts until she's exposed. During this entire process I'm repeating the opening of the Gettysburg address in my head in an effort to quell my throbbing erection. After a torturously long deer-caught-in-hubba-hubba-headlights moment, she has mercy and hands me a lemonade in hell by putting the t-shirt on.

"Wait," she says, crossing to her clutch that she set down on the dresser moments earlier. Damn, she still has those stockings on under that t-shirt that barely covers that ass. "Here." She hands me the note from Elena, but all I'm thinking of is that ass. And the transition from Ana's ass to Elena's anything is worse than toothpaste to orange juice.

"What's this for?" I ask, looking at note in my hand.

"I thought you might want to read what she said." She says she like she's referring to a blood thirsty rabid hyena asking her to spare a rib for lunch. Well, I can forgive the confusion. But, knowing Elena the way that I do, I know that isn't true. Elena makes the blood thirsty hyena look like a four day old cocker spaniel.

I open the note and read. Damn, I think she still sprays all of her stationary with her perfume. I just had a head trip back to a violent pegging courtesy of Chanel No. 5.

"_I may have misjudged you, Anastasia. And you have definitely misjudged me. Call me if you need to fill in any of the blanks—we could have lunch. Christian doesn't want me talking to you, but I would be more than happy to help. Don't get me wrong, I approve, believe me—but so help me, if you hurt him...He's been hurt enough. Call me: (206) 279-6261_

_Mrs. Robinson_

What. The. Fuck?! Who writes a letter like this? She sounds like Cruella Deville trying to get the puppies delivered.

"I'm not sure what blanks she can fill in..." I try to play it off for Ana, but I'm seething. Is this woman trying to destroy everything? What does she possibly want to tell Ana? How she beat and whipped and humiliated me daily? Or how I did the same to the others? She acts like I'm some teenager in need of Mommy relationship approval. Ironic.

"I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. Listen, I have to talk to Taylor about some things." I brush a stray lock of hair behind Ana's ear. "Get to bed or it's a spanking for you, missy."

"Ooh, incentive to stay up!" She giggles and it's lucky that my dick was deflated by reading this note, or else I'd be smacking that ass and peeling those stockings down her legs with my teeth.

"Behave," I say and she heads off to the bathroom. When she returns the stockings are off and she jumps in the bed.

"Goodnight, Mr. Grey," she mutters as I tuck her in and she's practically asleep when her head hits the pillow. I watch her there a moment, only the moonlight illuminating her in the darkness. I like her in my bed.

"Goodnight, my lovely," I whisper and I can see her smile as I brush her hair of her face. She'll never know what that really means, but I do.

#######

"We think she was waiting for you until nine," Welch says as he crosses my office. "A shadowy figure appeared on surveillance footage leaving about that time, but there's been nothing else."

"What the fuck do you mean a 'shadowy figure'? This isn't some _dun dun dun _flick."

"What the hell's a _dun dun dun_ flick?" Welch asks.

"I think Mr. Grey means an over-the-top cinematic piece that builds tension and suspense into scenes for dramatic effect until the climactic finish and subsequent resolution."

Welch just stares at him for a moment.

"You mean like pornos?"

"Like your life in a hell hotter than the devil would dream up if you don't find this girl two days before yesterday!" I get in his face.

"Does he always speak in riddles?" Welch asks Taylor and I can see Taylor's slight nod. Fuckers—all of them!

"I'll show you a riddle!" I say.

"Look Grey, we're doing our best. I warned you if you went to that ball that something bad would happen."

"Nothing happened at the ball."

"Yeah, because our attention was focused there. That's when she struck your apartment. She scoped it out, did the damage, and made sure no one saw or heard a thing. The dame is slick." Who the fuck says dame anymore? I think he watches old gumshoe movies at night while he stuffs his face with whatever pasta leftovers he's stolen. I still can't get past the truffle fusilli and I maybe never will.

"Yes, she knew the place well," I say. "She's smart, but this reckless violence isn't like her."

"We'll find her, Mr. Grey," Taylor says.

"Let's reconvene in an hour," Welch says. "We'll have more news then."

"Good idea; get to work," I say and they all scatter away and down the hall.

I sit at my desk and with my elbows propped on the wood, I bury my head in my hands. I'm exhausted yes, but there is no rest for the weary. Not until I can make sure Leila gets help and Ana is safe.

My phone rings and I rush to answer it, hoping it's news. Oh, it's news alright. Old News, herself.

"Elena," I answer. "What the hell do you want?" I'm clenching my teeth to prevent my rage from escaping my body, flying through the phone and strangling her dead. Although, at the moment, I'm not sure why I'm trying to prevent that kind of thing.

"Christian, is that any way to greet me?"

"Yes. After the stunt you just pulled!"

"What stunt? Talking to Anastasia tonight? I told you I was sorry it turned out like that. I didn't mean to—"

"Besides that—which I'm still livid over—why the fuck did you send her that note?"

There's silence.

"She showed you?" She has the audacity to sound appalled.

"Of course she did! Why wouldn't she?"

"It was between her and me."

"So, you were going behind my back?"

"No, I was trying to help your situation by making things right with her. She needs to understand how you are. I've always helped things along before."

"Okay, for the fucking last time, she's not a sub, she's my girlfriend. And news flash—girlfriends don't like their boyfriends' ex-dominatrixes involved in their relationships, even if they are just business partners in a beauty salon."

"I thought I was your friend..." she says.

"I thought so, too! But, you've got two strikes tonight!" I run a hand through my hair. "I mean it Elena, if you force me to choose..."

She's quiet, though I can faintly hear the tapping of her nails on her desk. That used to send shivers up my spine back in high school, especially since I knew what was coming after her claws got done with the table wood and I got done with Algebra homework.

"Christian, I want to see you happy. I think you're just too blinded by love, you're seeing everything through Anastasia rose colored glasses." Does she know that's her middle name? If not, is that statement more or less creepy than if she did?

"No, I'm happy! Finally."

"Christian, are you being careful?" she asks.

"Elena, for last time, if I get hurt that's my deal. You don't need to involve yourself in some misguided way of protecting me—"

"I'm talking about birth control. Are you being safe?"

I'm knocked back.

"What the fuck are you saying?"

"I'm saying don't just trust that she's taking her pills. That's all."

"Whatever method of birth control Ana and I use is none of your fucking business!"

"I'm not trying to be nosy. I'm just saying that you're a wealthy, powerful man and a girl barely old enough to drink with no means of her own would see you as an endless five star meal ticket should she "accidentally" fall pregnant."

I literally can't breathe.

"How dare you!"

"You'd be surprised what a girl will say or do to trap a wealthy man."

I inhale sharply. It's like she put a knife through my chest. That's my constant fear. Not that Ana wants my money; that she doesn't really want me.

"I have nothing further to say to you," I tell her.

"Listen to me, please. I don't want you hurt—"

"No, you listen! I asked you, now I'm telling you to leave her alone! She has nothing to do with you."

"Forgive me. I just want to help you, as your friend—"

"I know you do. But, I mean it. Leave her the fuck alone! Are you hearing me? Do I have to put it in triplicate?"

"No, Christian. I understand, but—"

"Good. Good night!"

I slam down the phone and work to catch my breath. Damn that woman. And what the fuck is Elena talking about? I can't buy Ana a couple of dresses and a stack of pancakes without her reading me the riot act and pulling out that coin purse. She just tricked me out of paying her $24,000! And why the fuck would she need to get pregnant to keep me? I'm here. I bought the house! Why can't I think to say any of these things to Elena in the moment?

I hear a rustle of something behind me and I quickly swivel around in my chair to see Ana, standing in the doorway in my t-shirt, watching me.

"You should be in satin or silk," I say, collecting myself from the prior conversation and not being able to take my eyes off of her. "But, even in my old t-shirt you look beautiful, Anastasia."

"I missed you. Come to bed," she says.

I watch her for a moment and then, as if by sheer magnetic force, I rise from my seat and move to her. Elena can go fuck herself, because Ana can have it all.

"Do you know what you mean to me?" I ask, holding her face with both of my hands. "If something happened to you..." I close my eyes, not able to look at her and fathom the thought.

"Nothing's going to happen to me." She reaches her hand up and with gentle purpose strokes my face, and I let go of her and lower my arms to my sides.

"Your beard grows quickly." She traces the stubble with her finger tips and then slowly moves them over my lips and down my throat. I tense because I'm not sure where she's going with this, but I don't move away.

As she caresses me, I feel the need to touch her, to hold her, to bend her over and fuck her on top of my desk until we come together like colliding freight trains that explode on a ball of fire, but I resist. I'm going to try and surrender this moment to her. And after everything that's happened with Leila and Elena and along with all the rest of our otherwise magical night, I like feeling her touch.

She reaches the line of smudged lipstick at the base of my neck and I inhale sharply. Stopping when she senses my fear, she looks to me for permission to continue and after a moment to breathe I give her an almost imperceptible nod.

"I'm not going to touch you," she says as she moves her hand from my open collar to the next unfastened button. "I just want to undo your shirt," she whispers.

I don't take my eyes off of her as she proceeds with the rest of my buttons. When my eyes are fixed on her nothing bad can happen. She's my lifeline. And maybe she can carry me to where I need to go. I just have to keep holding on.

"Back on home territory," she says with a devilish smile, immediately lightening the mood and turning me on as she traces below the lipstick line that sits at my belt.

"Well, you know what happens at home plate," I say.

"I don't really know the rules of baseball." She smirks.

"Well, I'm sure I can teach you a few things." I raise a brow and she grins.

"Can I take off your shirt?" she asks and though I tense again, I nod, my eyes still fixed on her. She slides the fabric from my shoulders and I straighten my arms so as to allow it to fall off my body and down to the floor.

"What about my pants, Miss Steele?" I ask, my chest bare to her now. Though I am more comfortable now that her fingers aren't so close to my skin.

"I want you in your bedroom," she says. Fuck if my cock didn't grow from a mile to a marathon.

"Do you now? I'd say you are insatiable, Miss Steele."

"Can't think why." She takes my hand and pulls me along to follow her. Damn, I didn't think I could grow to like this, but I'm about to bust a nut wondering what she's got planned. I hope it involves busting my nuts.

When we reach my bedroom she sits on my bed, and guides me so I'm standing between the part of her legs.

"What are you going to do to me," I ask, not able to resist running my fingers through her hair. She just looks up at me smiles wickedly, biting her lip.

She makes quick work of my pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them, and then sliding them down my legs until they pool at my feet.

"Fuck," I hiss through clenched teeth as she reaches her hands under the elastic band back of my boxers and kneads my ass. It's like she's making pie back there and now her pie hole is all I can think of.

"I'm hungry; I think I need a late nice snack," she says, reading my mind, and proceeds to slide my boxers down my thighs, past my calves to my ankles. I don't even bother to step out of them, I just want her mouth around my dick.

"Oh Ana," I growl as she teasingly licks my tip, tasting the bead of dew forming at the top. I'm ready to enjoy a long, hard, warm mouth fucking, when all of a sudden my balls feel like the North Pole delivered Christmas straight to my package.

"What's wrong?" Ana says as the chill on my balls causes me to shiver.

"I'm sorry, it's so cold all of a sudden," I mutter. Why is there an arctic breeze hitting my area? I look up to see that the doors to the terrace are wide open and it suddenly makes sense why it's winter in summer down below.

"Did you open the doors?" I ask her.

"No," she says and turns to look. She then gasps sharply and covers her mouth.

"What is it?" I ask.

"When I woke up, I thought it was all a dream..."

"You thought what was all a dream?" What the fuck is she talking about?

"There was a woman standing at the foot of the bed, watching me."

"What?"

"I don't think it was a dream now."

Holy fuck. Leila's been in here and I've been caught, both figuratively and literally, with my pants down.


	31. Chapter 31

**_Thank you for reading and your reviews! There will be updates on my other stories soon, too. And there may be an extra Mother's Day surprise. And for those who asked—yes I plan to do all of Darker, the wedding and Freed. xo_**

"Taylor, get the fuck in here right away!" I say into my phone, frantic and a bit frenzied by what Ana just told me. "We have a situation in here. I need you and the men now!" I hang up the phone and toss it on the nightstand.

"Tell me exactly what you saw," I say to Ana, who's still sitting on the bed in front of me.

"A woman standing where you are. That's all I remember. It was so dark. I was half asleep."

"Was she holding anything? A weapon?" Damn! The thought of Ana being in danger kills me. And I was in the next room! I can never leave her side again.

"I don't think so, but I couldn't really see. I think she had long hair. Longer than mine." That's Leila alright. I used to wrap that shit around my dick and give her an extra protein deep conditioning treatment.

"Mr. Grey," Taylor says, rushing in with his gun drawn."What's the situation—" he stops suddenly, lowers his weapon to his side and stands there all pop eyed. It's like someone gave him a fast, deep wedgie and he's not sure how to remove it without further damage.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" I ask.

"Uh, sir—" He backs up, like he's afraid I'll get too close. Since when is he afraid of of that? He's usually half-way up my ass.

"Taylor, stop with your shit! I have a job for you to do!"

"Mr. Grey, Taylor said you needed us," Welch says, rushing in with Sawyer. They halt abruptly. "For the love of Sam Hill, you do not need me, Grey!" He turns his shit colored suit-back to me and starts to walk out again.

"Hey! Get the fuck back here!" I yell and he stops and turns around slowly, with a scowl his mother probably had the day he was born. What is wrong with these idiots? "Anastasia has just seen something that's terrified her!"

"So have I," Welch says.

"Christian—" Ana says and I look to her. "I think you better check your situation down below," she whispers, gesturing south, and my eyes follow.

Oh shit. My pants are still down. I guess I'm just so used to being naked around Ana, it felt natural. And even with all the dramatics of the last three minutes the flag is still at full staff and saluting the Americas. And to top it all off, I still have lipstick all over my chest! Even for me this looks weird. Oh, who fucking cares? I pay them to forget the things they see.

"The situation caught us by surprise," I say, pulling my pants up.

"That's evident," Welch says, as I grab a t-shirt from my drawer and throw it on.

Oh hell! I just realized Ana's only got my little t-shirt on! They can see her legs! I grab a pair of my thickest, bulkiest sweatpants and toss them to her.

"What are these for?"she asks.

"Put them on," I say as I pull the bedspread off the bed and hold it up for her to change.

"Listen, it's been weird..." Welch says. "But, I've got work to do."

"You most certainly do! I called you because Leila has just been here," I say as I throw the bedspread down, satisfied that Ana is covered sufficiently with my jogging materials.

"With you two? Like that?" Welch asks.

"No! Miss Steele saw her," I say. "I was in my study at the time. Anastasia was sleeping."

"She was at the foot of the bed when I woke up. Then I went to see Christian to bring him back—" Ana says.

"Because you saw her?" Welch asks.

"No, because I missed him."

"Wait a second," Welch says, holding up a hand like he's figuring out how the shit gets from his brain to his ass and then out his mouth and back again. "Miss Steele woke up, went to get you in your study and you two proceeded to start sexual activity back in your bedroom and then in the middle of your glory time you decided to call us with your pants down?" He shakes his head. "And this doesn't seem like odd behavior to you?"

"Not really," Taylor chimes in.

"I thought it had been a dream," Ana says. "So, I didn't tell him. And things got... Well, you know... Heated. But, then Christian got... Chilly." She dips her head, embarrassed.

"I bet," Welch says, shaking his head.

"The balcony doors were open," I say. " And not by either of us! That's when she told me."

"How long ago was this?" Welch asks.

"Ten minutes," Ana says.

"All that happened in ten minutes?!" Welch asks.

"I'd be delighted to continue this conversation by the fireplace and reminisce on yester-minutes, but I'd rather us be looking for fucking Leila!" I say.

The men go to the balcony and open the doors to assess.

"She's not out here now," Taylor says after his thorough head-peek-out-the-door-for-thirty-seconds-tops investigation. "She must've escaped."

"You think?!" I ask.

"How the hell did she crawl down from all the way up here?" Welch asks. "It's like thirty stories!"

"That's what I'm paying you to fucking know!"

"Hey, I'm a good detective! Who got you all that fast info on that Portland hardware store owner's kid?" Ana immediately glares up at me and knocks me with her hip. "But, I've never see a dame with these kinds of abilities. She's like spider woman or something."

"So, you just shrug your shoulders?" I ask.

"Listen, there was nothing on surveillance," he says. "She must've been hiding somewhere inside."

"I thought you men checked!" I say. "You kept on and on about looking in corners and cupboards and cereal boxes and shit! How the fuck did you miss her?"

"She must've been one step ahead."

"Doesn't seem like such a hard task!" I say. "In fact, she was probably three steps ahead, but doubled back to one just for the challenge."

"If she knew the place well, it wouldn't be hard for her to map out a plan," Welch says.

"She does know it well," I say and I see this information makes Ana uncomfortable, so I reach over, take her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. "But, how would she escape?"

"Maybe she walked across the balcony and crawled back through another open window—say, the one in the kitchen— and then took the back stairs down that lead to the street and no one would be the wiser," Taylor says.

"Good thinking, Taylor," I say, though I'm troubled he's so familiar with an escape plan. Has he plotted escaping himself? "Let's check that out."

"Thank you, sir."

"I can tell you one thing I know for sure," Welch says, serious, like he's about to impart wisdom.

"What?" I ask.

"That dame ain't scared of heights."

"Hilarious. But, while you all get to work finding her, Ana and I are leaving."

"Leaving where?" Ana asks.

"Somewhere I know you're safe."

"Are you going to Bellevue, sir?" Taylor asks.

"Yeah Taylor, we are. We're going to show up like this at two in the morning and casually ask my parents if we can spend the night because a girl with a gun keeps getting into my apartment!" He just stares at me. "Book us somewhere!"

"Yes, sir."

"Gail's not here is she?" I ask as he Googles reservations on his phone.

"No, she's at her sister's. Do you need some sandwiches?"

"Sandwiches?"

"For the road."

"I'm not asking if Gail can pack tuna fish and a juice box in my nappy sack. I want you to make sure she doesn't return until the place is secured!"

"Yes, sir."

I quickly move to my closet, change into a pair of jeans, and pull out a Louis Vuitton Damier duffel and stuff it with essentials: sweaters, socks, condoms (definitely an essential, so I grab a Halloween candy handful). I also put one in my pocket in case we find a place to get randy on the quick.

"Here, wear this." I hand Ana a denim jacket of mine as I exit the closet and she puts it on. "Taylor, pack Miss Steele a bag. Her things are upstairs."

"I can get them," Ana says.

"If you think I'm letting you go up there—"

"Why can't I get my own clothes?" She crosses her arms, all defiant-like. She practically sliced my nuts into a salami tray for buying her the dresses and now she wants to pack her "own clothes" for the road.

"Don't start with it, Ana! Your women's liberation movement never said for you to go up to the old submissive bedroom!"

"You're right; it told me not to." She purses her lips and boy do I wish punishments weren't off the table.

"I mean it, Ana."

"I'll call you with the reservation, Mr. Grey," Taylor says, finishing up with his Blackberry.

"Good," I say and grab some flavored lube from a side drawer just in case. Vanilla—perfect!

"Aren't we all overacting?" Ana asks.

"She could have a gun!" I say.

"She could've killed me already; she was standing right over me. She's been in front of me twice now—"

"Well, I'm not letting you wait around to see if third time is the charm in your head." I look down and see Ana's bare toes, the chipped polish smarting me. "Ana needs shoes, Taylor!"

"Yes, sir."

"And warm socks!"

He nods and disappears to find them, and Welch and Sawyer leave on his tail.

"So, we're just going to run?" Ana asks.

"For now—yes!"

I grab a few toiletries from the bathroom and Ana's stockings that have been discarded on the counter. We may use those later. Oh yes, I think we will...

"What if she shoots Taylor?" Ana asks from outside the door.

"Don't be worried about him; I'm not!" I say as I make my way back into the bedroom and go through the bag to make sure we have everything. Why is she so worried about him, anyway? "Taylor knows about guns. It's his life. He'll be faster than Leila."

"I know about guns," Ana says.

I stop counting my underwear and look at her.

"Ana, this isn't one of those video games with the Italian plumbers fighting that dragon while getting high on a bunch of mushrooms."

"What are you talking about?"

"The brothers with the mustaches. They're famous." Are seven pairs of boxer briefs enough? I'm planning on getting naked and changing them a lot... I go for eight. No, nine.

"Super Mario Brothers?" she asks.

"That's the one!"

"They never had any guns in Super Mario Brothers," she says.

"Good, neither will you."

"Ray taught me how to shoot, you know." She's so proud of her knowledge of gun violence. Maybe that's why she likes Taylor so much. Oh, I can never tell him about this. A woman who likes guns to him is like a woman who likes slip knots to me.

"Why would your father do that?" I ask.

"For protection. He's ex military like Taylor."

"Good, I'll set up a tea for them to discuss technique while we're far away."

"You know it's not only your exes you should worry about. I've got good aim." She smirks.

"I'll keep that in mind, Miss Steele." I grin. She can make me smile at the most unexpected times.

I throw on a pinstriped jacket, grab our bag and take her hand, moving us swiftly down the hall and to the foyer where Taylor is waiting with a pair of sneakers for her and a packed bag. He could've picked the Chanel slip-ons, instead of those ratty old things. I bet she's had them since high school. She puts them on with the socks as Taylor calls for the elevator.

"Taylor," I whisper while she's tying. "Gynecologist." I raise my brows for him to catch my drift.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"The appointment. Same time, different channel..."

"Oh yes, sir. She may charge an extra fee for the move." Of course. An extra mile an extra zero. Dr. Greene's time is precious away from that tarantula backed husband. I mean, he might actually get a job if she was gone too long and he ran out of tequila. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

"It's fine. Any price." As long as I can throw the rubbers to the road, I'll pay anything.

"Taylor," Ana says, and we both turn to her.

"Be careful," she says and all of sudden—like it's in horror show slow motion— she runs over and throws herself onto Taylor, hugging him with the charged emotion of a wartime send-off. He's probably fantasizing that this is the case as we speak!

"I will Miss Steele," he says as she pulls away. He's fucking smiling like Uncle Sam on the Fourth of July as he straightens his tie.

I look at him with venom and utter disgust. And then to her. And then back to him. What do I say to this?

"Let me know where Ana and I are going to be spending the night together," I say pointedly to him as I glare.

"Oh, use this," he says, handing me his credit card in an envelope. I feel like he's my dad sending us off to buy a pizza after the big game and he's afraid I won't be able to afford the extra pepperoni.

"What's this for?" I ask.

"Use my name, so Leila can't track you, sir."

"Good thinking," I mutter, though I'm not sure Taylor's name would throw her off the track too far.

"Accompany them to the garage," Taylor says to Sawyer, suddenly all military professional sounding.

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," Sawyer barks back.

These two are fucking weird.

I take Ana's hand and I lead her inside the elevator doors.

"A replacement will arrive Monday," I say to Ana, feeling the need for some type of apology as we walk past her destroyed car in the garage. She looks horrified, as she should. At least she can see my fear is not misplaced. But, she can also see firsthand what's become of the mind of a woman I've been with.

"How could she know it was mine?" she asks, once I've secured us both inside my R8. Her eyes are still fixed on her car.

Oh. Fuck.

"She had an Audi A3. I buy one for all my submissives—it's one of the safest cars in its class," I say, mumbling the submissives part and enunciating the safety factor.

"So, not so much a graduation present, then," Ana says, leaning her head back into the seat.

"Anastasia, despite what I hoped, you have never been my submissive, so technically it is a graduation present."

I pull out of the parking space, keeping careful watch of my surroundings as I make a fast getaway.

"Are you still hoping?" she asks quietly.

I was thinking about that earlier, well before she asked. If Ana was a submissive now, what would life be like? We wouldn't talk, that's for sure. We wouldn't dine out or go to dances or be thoroughly embarrassed by my family. We wouldn't fight, and the surprising thing is how much I would miss that. We'd spend the weekends fucking, but sleeping apart. And I don't know how I'd sleep in my bed knowing she was right upstairs. I'd join her, that's for sure, and what do you make of a BDSM relationship where the dominant snuggles up in his submissive's bed? I wouldn't see her all week. There wouldn't be her sarcastic emails or her telling me when I'm being an ass... All there would be was "yes, Sir," but there wouldn't be her...

The in-car phone buzzes before I can answer her question. It's Taylor.

"What is it?" I answer.

"Fairmont Olympic. In my name. I think you'll like the room I chose." It's not a vacation—what the fuck?

"Thank you, Taylor. Be in touch."

Once on the interstate I floor the gas pedal and head north. Ana's a bit jostled in her seat as I make speed, but she steadies herself and holds her gaze out the window as she leans her head against the glass, deep in thought.

"No. It's not what I hope for, not anymore," I say, my voice softly sincere. "I thought that was obvious."

She's quiet. Too quiet. And I can't demand for her to answer. I can't do that anymore. I can only wait.

"Was she your favorite?" she asks and I'm a bit taken aback by the question.

"My favorite? Leila?" She lifts her head from the glass and nods as she looks at me. "Ana—" I shake my head. Where is she going with this? "She was my longest. So, I guess that made her my most compatible."

She turns to the window again. And as the lights of night cross her face I hope to God she doesn't wish she was away from me right now.

"I worry that, you know...that I'm not enough," she says looking up at me quickly and then down to her fingers.

Not enough for me? How could she think this? She's everything.

"You're more than enough. For the love of God, Anastasia, what do I have to do?"

Let her touch you, Grey... Tell her that you love her... Tell her about the house!

"Why did you think I'd leave when I said Dr. Flynn told me everything?" she asks.

"Because you have no idea the depths of my depravity..." I sigh.

"And you really think I'd leave?" she asks. "You think so little of me?"

"I think so highly of you that I know you'd leave." I wouldn't blame her. If I was a good enough man I would've stayed away from her after she left. She wouldn't be racing down the highway to get away from my nutso ex-sub. She'd be happy and free. And I'd continue on with the rest of my God forsaken life, my only speck of happiness being that I saved her from me. But again, I'm not a good enough man.

"Oh I don't know, Mr. Grey. I've surprised you in the past."

We both smile.

"That you have, Miss Steele."

"Elena said you saw her the day I left."

Oh hell!

"She didn't," I say. What the fuck? Now Elena is out-and-out lying?! "I couldn't see anyone that day. I was a mess. I stayed in my office for hours making the glider you gave me."

"But, why did she tell me that?" Because she's turned into Satan! She used to just sub for him, now she's his Domme.

"Contrary to what Elena believes, I don't go running to her with everything."

"You're angry."

"Yes! Not at you. I'm just fucking sick of Elena tonight!" I look over to her. I don't want to upset her. "Let's just talk about someone else. How was my father?"

"He's very dashing."

"Really?" I frown. "He's taken, you know."

"So am I," she giggles and I take her hand and bring it to my lips to kiss, then set it in her lap again.

"Carrick told me you didn't talk for two years," she says.

"Did he now? What other terrible tales of Christian Little were told?"

"I kind of pumped him for information," she says.

"And?"

"He told me about your mom being the attending physician when they brought you in. How you didn't talk. How the piano helped you. And Mia."

"She was about six months old when she arrived," I say, smiling as I recall them showing her to me for the first time. She was in this pink jumper with a matching blanket. I thought she smelled like marshmallows. She was fussy and they couldn't calm her down, so instinctively I started petting her arm. I guess I just knew that's what I needed and never got when I was small. I calmly kept at it until she quieted and cooed and we both smiled. I hadn't smiled since my mother died. It just made me happy to make her happy. "I remember Grace putting her in my arms when I set on our couch. She was just so perfect that I forgot to stop myself from talking and I said her name."

"You thought you weren't supposed to talk?" Ana asks and it doesn't go unnoticed by me that she's gently petting my arm.

"I was so young. I guess I just didn't want to share any part of myself with anyone. But, I cared for her, as much as I was able to..." I look over and she smiles sweetly. God, I want to tell her I love her.

"I'm glad you're talking now," she says and my smile in return is lit with hope—something I've never had before.

"Although, my sister is not so perfect anymore." I raise a brow, recalling our evening.

"Oh yes, she was determined to keep us apart," Ana laughs.

"You find my blue balls over your silver ones amusing, Miss Steele?"

"You should've see your face!"

"You should've felt my balls!"

"I wanted to! And I did..." she smirks.

"Behave," I laugh and gently stroke her knee.

"Can I ask you something about Elena?"

I sigh. "If you must."

"You said she loved you in a way that was—acceptable."

"Yeah... Isn't it obvious?"

"Not to me."

"Ana, I couldn't be touched and at fourteen and fifteen I was a raging ball of hormones. And all the girls were just... Let's just say it was a difficult time. She harnessed all that energy and showed me how to let off steam in the process."

I shift in my seat and tense when I see a pair of high beams gaining on me. They switch lanes suddenly and speed ahead, so I don't think it's Leila. I think it's just an asshole.

"Mia said you brawled a lot," Ana says.

"Jesus, what is it with my family?" I shake my head and then look over to her. "Actually I think it's you. All the Greys are under your spell."

"I didn't ask her. Mia was afraid you'd brawl if someone else won me for the dance."

Lord, she has no idea how close Bent and his band of Dicks were.

"There wasn't a danger in that. There was no way I'd let someone else dance with you."

"Flynn did."

"Flynn's always the exception."

I pull up at the Fairmont. Ana's eyes are wide as she looks out the window and takes it all in. I suppose it is impressive. Even at this hour they have pomp and circumstance and a degree of service, though I have to wait nearly two minutes for the valet. The last time I was here was that damn Governors Ball where Bill Gates embarrassed himself on the dance floor—again! I would've felt sorry for Melinda, but she had so many Captain and Jacks she couldn't give a fuck. And that's a good thing, because Bill couldn't give her a fuck, either. Whiskey dick.

"Come," I say as I open her door and help her out of the car. She really is impressed with the Fairmount, but I'm only ever impressed with her.

"Name of Taylor," I say to the valet. "And watch it with the fender on that steep drive. Last time it looked like they went diving for alligators and lost to the bite."

The idiot college boy nods profusely as I hand him a hundred spot, and I notice he's looking at Ana. Fucker. I take her hand—declaring her mine—and guide her through the carousel doors.

"Can I help you, sir?" a girl behind the front desk asks. Girl is a term I use loosely, like when describing a weed as a lawn flower or a talon as a fingernail. The first thing I notice about her is her lashes going for a record batting average. Oh lord, does she really think I'd show up at 3am with the hottest girl on the planet to get it on with Batty Bat Bat?

"Name is Taylor, Jason Taylor," I say, feeling all 007 as Batty punches some keys. I look to Ana and I notice she notices Batty's watch. Ana's such the green-eyed goddess. I'm getting hard just thinking about it.

"Credit card for incidentals," Batty asks and I forgot that I didn't take it out of the envelope when I put it in my jacket earlier, so I have to dig it out and remove the thing. Of course Taylor licked it shut, so it's a damn production. Why the fuck did he put it in an envelope anyway?

I finally hand it to Batty and look over to Ana who has her arms folded, pulling her—or rather my—jacket together. She's intently watching some elderly woman in a Chanel box coat feed escargot to a Yorkie on one of the sofas. It's quite disgusting watching a dog that small and with so little teeth eat snails covered in herbed butter. I don't even want to know what Yorkie shit looks like after that meal.

"Are you sure you want the room that was booked?" Batty asks. "You know you have other options." She raises a brow seductively and it's terrifying.

"Yes, of course," I give her a glare. Taylor knows what kind of room I need and it has nothing to do with spider lashes.

"How many keys?" Batty asks in a clipped tone. Good; maybe she's getting the hint that I've got arachnophobia.

"One. We're always together and we'll rarely leave the room."

Batty scowls. This is fun.

I look back over at Ana, who is thankfully through looking at the dog, and she looks up at me. She's so cute in my clothes. As I look into her eyes I suddenly have visions of us in a year, in five, in twenty... I see us on a honeymoon, arriving in the middle of the night in Monte Carlo. Everyone is dressed to the nines in the casino, but we pass them by and I pick her up, carry into the elevator and then over the threshold of our room and straight to our bed. I take a breath; how did I just see a lifetime in thirty seconds in her eyes?

"Will you need help with your bags, Mr. Taylor?" Batty asks, stealing me from my thoughts.

"No," I say. "Mrs. Taylor and I can manage just fine." I look over to her and smile and she smiles shyly in return. I like calling her the Mrs. Sure, it's Mr. And Mrs. Taylor for tonight, but maybe someday, if I dare to hope against hope, we can really be Mr. And Mrs. Grey.

"Well, Mrs. Taylor, I don't know about you, but I'd really like a drink," I say as I put our things down quickly in the master bedroom. I notice the four poster canopy bed. It's quite ornate and romantic with its draperies and linens. At first I think there's something spilled on the duvet, but upon closer review it's a dusting of scattered blood red rose petals. Odd; they've never done that at the Fairmont before.

I return to her again in the living area. I'm delighted to see a fire already burning in the fireplace and Ana cozied up in a strategically placed love seat, warming her hands by it.

"Armagnac?" I ask, as I kick off my shoes and head to the bar.

"Please," she says and I have to smile, because I don't think she even knows what that is. Ana's blind faith in me—even in bar tending—is comforting, but it also reminds me that she's young and trusting and Elena's words about girls changing their minds about love keeps haunting me.

The bar is well stocked. I find the brandy straightaway, but also notice there's a bottle of the Fairmont's best champagne on ice and two crystal flutes set beside it, as well as a bowl of chocolate covered strawberries. They're really excited we're here. Strange. But, I'll definitely use those props later.

"It's been quite a day, huh?" I hand her a glass of brandy and join her. She looks deep in thought. I hope she's not thinking about how to tell me goodbye.

"I'm okay," she whispers, and her smile is sweet and sincere. "How about you?"

"Well, right now I'd like to drink this and then, if you're not too tired, take you to bed and lose myself in you."

"I think that can be arranged, Mr. Taylor." She smiles and her front teeth bite into the flesh of her pout.

"Mrs. Taylor, stop biting your lip," I say and she blushes as she sips her brandy. Why is it so satisfying to call each other Mr. and Mrs.? Of all the sexy pet names I ever thought up, I would've never thought Mrs. would be the most erotic.

"You never cease to amaze me, Anastasia," I say. "After a day like today—or yesterday, rather—you're not whining or running off into the hills screaming. I am in awe of you. You're very strong."

"You're a very good reason to stay," she says, holding my gaze. "I told you, Christian, I'm not going anywhere, no matter what you've done or been. You know how I feel about you."

I want to believe her, but I just can't. The pain from the bite of a cane, I know. The love of someone so pure and lovely, I don't. I believe that she believes that she loves me, but I also believe that voice inside my head that keeps telling me she just doesn't know the real me.

"Look, there's a gift basket," Ana says, pointing to the thing on the other side of the room that I thought was a piece of plastic wrapped furniture. Ever curious Ana hops up to look at it.

"It's bath oils and lotions," she says. "And Madame and Monsieur bath robes. Why would they give us that?"

Oh hell. Suddenly, it's all becoming clear—the elaborate canopy bed with the red petals, the good champagne, the rug in front of the fire that has no purpose for anything other than long, sensual, oiled up lovemaking. Taylor's purposely booked us in the bridal suite! That sneaky bastard, I smile to myself. He's trying to tell me something.

"It's a French thing," I say.

"This hotel is French?"

"I think the owner of this hotel is from Montreal."

"Well, it's very romantic," Ana says as a blush dusts her cheeks.

"What can I say? I'm that guy now," I say and she smiles.

"Where are you going to hang José's portraits of me?" asks my unknowing new bride as she crawls up next to me on the love seat again.

"That depends," I say and though I try, I can't fight my smile. Oh Ana, I will build a gallery just for pictures of you in our new home.

"On what?" she asks.

"Circumstances," I say, waving my hand through the air, fanning the flames of possibility and her curiosity. "His show's not over yet, so I don't have to decide straightaway." She stares at me, confused and intrigued and a little pissy with my mysteriousness, and I'm enjoying keeping her on her toes. "You can look as sternly as you like, Mrs. Taylor. I'm saying nothing."

"I may torture the truth from you."

"Really, Anastasia, I don't think you should make promises you can't fulfill."

Challenge accepted. She takes her glass and then mine and places them on the mantle.

"We'll just have to see about that," she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me up from my seat. This is fucking adorable. Here she is all seductive in her oversized sweats and jacket—all of which are mine, including her.

"What are you going to do with me?"

"You don't get to ask questions, Mr. Taylor," she says, pulling me along to the bedroom and I can't stop smiling.

She pulls me to the bedside, then stops.

"Now that you have me in here, Anastasia, what are you going to do with me?"

"I'm going to start by undressing you. I want to finish what I started earlier." Those words from her have my cock playing punch dummy with my zipper.

She carefully holds onto the lapels of my jackets, and without touching me, gently moves the fabric from my shoulders. I straighten my arms as she slides it off of me and it to drops to the floor.

"Now your T-shirt," she says and I slightly gasp when she touches the bottom hem, but she's so gentle I don't move. The level of trust I'm building with her is mind blowing. It's an intimacy I've never known with anyone. As she pulls my shirt up, I raise my arms so she can pull it off and away with ease. My chest is bare to her, and the once clear and defined map of red is now smudged and the lines are all but erased.

I watch her as she runs a finger along the band of my boxers that are just peeking up above my jeans. I groan at her touch.

"Now what?" I ask, not able to take my eyes off of her.

"I want to kiss you here." She runs her finger from hip to hip, causing me to quiver.

"I'm not stopping you," I say and inhale sharply. That feels so fucking good.

"You'd better lie down then," she says and leads me to the bed. I have to say, this is odd having someone take the lead. The last time was Elena. But, it's so different when you don't have to prepare for the lash of a whip.

"Rose petals," Ana says, noticing the scattering of them on the comforter. "Did you plan this?"

"No Ana, I didn't plan anything..." I say, looking at her, framed by the draped canopy. "And yet here you are..."

She smiles and directs me to sit on the bed while she remains standing in front of me. I'm a little nervous at what may happen next, but again the urge to trust her is greater than my fear of the unknown.

Without a word, and not taking her eyes of mine, she peels the denim jacket off and tosses it on a chair. She then unties the loop in the drawstring of the sweatpants. They're so big for her, they drop to the floor immediately. Wow, I didn't know I'd be getting a strip show. And the fact that she's stripping off my old sweat pants is oddly more erotic. I notice I'm rubbing the sheet between my fingertips. The need for her intensifying.

She takes a deep breath and with eyes heated on mine she reaches for the hem of her t-shirt. She slowly, sensually lifts it over her head and then drops it, so she's left standing naked before me.

"You are Aphrodite, Anastasia," I say and I inhale sharply. Though I'm not sure the title of a goddess does her justice.

She moves slowly to me and I take in ever inch of her frame. When she reaches me, I tilt my head up to her and I'm met with a deep sensuous kiss. The things this girl has learned to do with her tongue in five short weeks... I groan and I can feel the low growl reverberate all throughout my body.

I lose control and grab her hips, flipping her over so that I'm on top of her. I need her so badly. My mouth still ravaging hers, I run my hand up her inner thigh and along her body. I cup her breast and then squeeze and tug at her nipple. I wedge myself between her thighs so my denim covered groin is teasingly rubbing against her now dripping wet pussy.

Ana groans and starts to really rub herself against me. I stop kissing her and watch her face as she is works to satisfy herself. This is so fucking hot.

Okay baby—you want it, you got it.

I flex my hips so my erection pushes into her there and she pushes right back. I start kissing her again as she humps my member through the denim. She's really heating up, her fingers twisting and pulling my hair. I think she's going to come like this when she surprises me again, running her hands down my arms, then onto my hips and finally reaching her hands into the back waistband of my jeans to grab onto my ass and pull me into her further.

Damn.

"You're going to unman me, Ana," I whisper, panting, and I lift myself to my knees. Fuck this is hot, my jeans are now soaked from her. "You want me, baby, and I sure as hell want you," I say taking off my jeans and boxers and pulling that condom out of my pocket before I discard them on the ground. "You know what to do."

She rips open the wrapper and rolls the condom on my length.

Before we begin, I look at her for a moment. The rose petals are scattered around her body and few are tangled in her hair. She's glorious. And it isn't simply because of the flowers, or the milk of her skin, or the pink of breasts and lips that she's beautiful. It's the fact that she keeps staying with me, even when she should run away. That I trusted her with a map on my chest and she never betrayed me. That we're in this intense, scary, wonderful thing together. And simply that I love her. All of it gets me a bit emotional, and yet, all the while I have this raging hard-on and her sexy as hell body sprawled out beneath me. And I want to fuck her, yes, but I also want to do other things with her. And maybe that's what making love really is. I didn't understand when she asked me before Georgia, but I think I do now.

I lean over her and smile. It's a smile full of passion and promise and a vulnerability I hadn't possessed before. I gently rub her nose with mine and allow our lips to brush before I slowly, gently enter her. She holds onto my arms as I fully bury myself in her. I've never held myself so still and so deep inside a woman before. And to my surprise, I don't want to move; I just want to hold her like this for a moment. We're as close as two people can possibly be and I want to stay like this forever.

I do begin to move, but still slowly, needing to feel every precious inch of her. As I'm doing this I'm kissing her face, her neck, that sweet spot behind her ear. My teeth graze her chin and my lips softly find hers. I'm making sweet, tender, everything love to her for the first time and it's magnificent.

"Please, Christian—faster," she says as I luxuriously move in and out of her. I have to remind myself that she's never really been made love to before, either. We're on this journey together. And maybe if I can't tell her how I feel, maybe I can show her.

"Oh no, baby. I need this slow." I kiss her and gently bite her bottom lip, which makes her groan.

She moves her hands into my hair and surrenders to my rhythm. It's an amazing build as we continue together. I've known much ecstasy in my day, but this is something else. It's like I could crawl inside of her and she in me. We're simply one.

"Christian," she cries out as she lets go and falls apart in my arms.

"Oh, Ana," I cry out and my teeth graze her shoulder as I pull her close and find the sweetest release inside of her.

########

I hold her as my head rests on her belly. I've never felt like this after sex before. It's a mix of warm and fuzzy and vulnerable and never wanting to be left alone again. It's the best feeling in the world and the worst all at once. Because don't the highest highs always bring the lowest lows?

"I will never get enough of you. Don't ever leave me," I murmur and then kiss her belly. Jesus, Grey, you're a needy weepy mess.

"I'm not going anywhere, Christian," she says as she strokes my hair. I can't see her face, but she's probably embarrassed of the post coital smorgasbord of emotion I am. "I seem to remember that I wanted to kiss your belly..."

"Nothing stopping you now baby." I grin against her flesh.

"I don't think I can move...I'm so tired," she says.

I look at the clock. Shit, it's after 4:30 in the morning. She needs rest. We have a big day tomorrow.

I sit up and pull the covers so that they're over us both and then spoon her, holding her close and snug against me, wrapping her up in the safety and warmth of my arms.

"Sleep well, baby." I kiss her hair and within moments I can tell she's asleep. I know her breath by heart.


	32. Chapter 32

**_Thank you so much for reading and all your reviews on all my stories. Happy Memorial Day! xox_**

I wake wrapped around her—like every morning—but the need to hold her and be close, after everything last night, is even more. The smell of roses from the petals scattered around us on the bedspread is strong and sweet and intoxicatingly beautiful—like her. I contemplate waking her to make love to her again, the same way we did last night, but she needs her sleep. And I quite like holding her while she dreams.

"Oh Ana, I do love you," I say, though it's barely a whisper buried into her hair. She doesn't stir, except for a sigh of breath, but maybe in her dreams she hears me. Maybe I'm not such a coward there.

I look at the clock. It's after nine. I've slept late with Miss Steele again. Shit, I better get up. I'm sure my Blackberry has exploded. I'm surprised Taylor hasn't sent a search-and-rescue team out for me, as I always answer calls and texts first thing. Not anymore, I smile.

I reluctantly peel away from her, throw on pajama bottoms and a t-shirt as quickly and quietly as I can so I can leave her to rest. But, before I go I take one more look at a picture I want framed in my memory forever—the first woman I've ever made love to asleep amidst the rose petals.

#######

"Any word?" I ask Taylor as I talk to him on my cell in the living room.

"Nothing on Leila, though they'll bring a replacement for the car on Monday, sir."

"Good."

"Dr. Greene should be around before eleven. She said she'd have to push her schedule to allow for the change in distance she'd be traveling, so she'd bill accordingly."

"It's four fucking miles closer to her! On a Sunday!"

"Should I call with that?"

"No, it's fine! Just make sure she gets here with a loaded syringe." It would be just like her to have to schedule another appointment because all she was carrying was her prescription pad and a wide parted wallet.

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Taylor." I shake my head looking at the obscenely large basket of newlywed love still propped by the fireplace. "We rather enjoyed the accommodations you booked last night. The _bridal_ suite is quite lovely."

"I thought you'd like it, sir. And it was the only suite left."

"Yes, I'm sure." Who does he think he's fooling? "I'll be taking Miss Steele sailing today. Can you make the proper arrangements?"

"Oh, that's so lovely, sir. Yes, of course." Why does he sound so damned delighted? I half expect champagne on ice, candelabras and a newlyweds' snorkel certificate when we arrive. Hey, wait a minute...

"Taylor, have the bedroom decorated."

"At the apartment, sir?"

"No, the boat! I mean, not furniture and shit, just warm it up. Make sure there are fresh flowers, a chilled Bollinger, perhaps new linens for the bed with a feminine friendly feel."

"Do you want a floral design on it, sir?" That's just what I need, big flowers all over the comforter and sheets like my grandmother's. That'll inspire romance.

"Not feminine feminine, feminine friendly. Something still manly, but soft.

"Soft man, sir?" He's really getting under my fucking skin.

"Something that says I like candlelight and walks by the lake, but I could still take down a bear if he tried to attack."

"What about beige, sir?"

"Beige?"

"It's the pastel form of brown. And brown is quite a wood chopping color." Color advice from the colorblind. Although, I never thought about it before, but he's kind of right. Of course that would make me the pastel form of black. I always thought I was evil. I guess I'm just soft evil.

"Fine. Think beige with personality."

"Yes, Mr. Grey."

"And I need breakfast ordered up. Pancakes and bacon are her favorites. And the English Breakfast tea she likes—Twining's. I don't want that American shit." I get to thinking. "What's romantic to eat in the morning?"

"Romantic, sir?"

"You know. Something special, somewhat erotic, that warms you right to your soul and when you taste it you just know that you want this every day for the rest of your life."

"For breakfast, Mr. Grey?"

Oh shit, I lost focus and was talking about Ana and my lovemaking last night.

"Yes, for breakfast." I clear my throat, attempting to pull myself together. Who knew you'd feel so emotional the morning after your first lovemaking.

"Granola is always good, sir."

"Granola? What's romantic about granola?"

"It has an element of surprise." Well, no wonder he's divorced. Glad Gail does all the cooking now.

"As sexy as that sounds, tell the chef the bridal suite wants high romance on the double."

"Right away, sir."

I hang up and eye the basket. I look into the bedroom to make sure she hasn't stirred. Still sleeping like my baby. Good. I move to it.

As I dig through, I'm quite impressed with the assortment of flavored massage oils and lotions. There's a guidebook entitled: _Seattle Is For Lovers: Where to Get Your Love On_. I'll definitely read this, so as not to go to any of the places idiot tourists reading this material will frequent. There are chocolates and heart shaped something or others—I can't tell if they're soap or petrified scones. I'm not sure why honeymooners would want Power Bars. Oh wait—stamina. Clever, Fairmont. Just behind a copy of the _All New Kama Sutra_ (not sure what's new about it but the idiots acting out the poses in pictures like it's porn—disgusting, really), I find what I'm looking for in a rolled up and wedged bunch—the bathrobes.

I move to take out the plush _Monsieur_ and _Madame_ robes— _Mr_. and _Mrs_., I smile. Or, _Sir_ and _Ma'am_. Appropriate. The French knows us so well.

I look at my robe for a moment, deciding if I should or if I shouldn't, and come to the conclusion at last that I very well should. So, I slip it on. I've never been one for these things; it always felt like a day at the asshole spa when I've worn them. Not a spa for literal assholes, but where the elite get rubbed down from all the tension they've accumulated during the week by doing absolutely nothing. But, today is different. Today, I don't care of I'm an asshole as long as I'm Ana's.

I take a look in the mirror. Not so bad. I just look a bit fluffy, but that's fitting. I've felt a bit fluffy all morning thinking about last night. It's quite comfortable really, and I find I like being the other half to hers. I'm discovering being a half doesn't lessen, it multiplies.

I decide to set Ana's robe in the bedroom for her to wear, and offer it to her casually. I don't want to freak her out that I want to play like we're honeymooners at breakfast, but I really illicitly do. To be utterly in love and carefree and normal would be nice, if only for a few hours more.

As I tip-toe into the bedroom and lay the robe on the chair, I see the face of an angel—my angel. She's on her stomach sleeping with her head turned my way, her thumb to her lips and just brushing her parted teeth as she tucks herself into the pillow. The comforter and sheet have slipped down to just above her ass, leaving the cute dimples on her lower back exposed. God, I want to lick them. She giggles at something in her dreams, causing the hair that's flowing over her naked back to spill down her shoulders and tickle the side of her breast.

Damn.

I sit and watch her there. My favorite time of the morning. That beautiful in between.

Her eyes blink open and fix on me fixed on her.

"Hi," I say, brushing the hair off her face and tucking it behind her ear.

"Hi," she returns and stretches a bit. "How long have you been sitting there watching me?"

"Oh, I could watch you sleep for hours, Anastasia, but I've only been here a few minutes." I lean over and kiss her softly. "Dr. Greene will be here soon."

"Oh." Shit, I hope she's not still mad about that. I wait for a rebuttal, but my condom cursing cock is grateful not to hear one.

"Did you sleep well? Certainly seemed liked it with all the snoring," I tease.

"I do not snore." She tosses a small pillow that ricochets off me and falls to the floor.

"No, you don't." And if she did that would be music, too. Those words she whispered in her dreams certainly were once.

"Did you shower?" she asks, looking at my robe.

"No, I was waiting for you."

"Are you wearing one of the robes they gave us?"

"Uh, yes. I got a bit chilly out there."

"Chilly, huh?" She looks skeptical, though somewhat amused.

"Yes, and you'll catch cold too, if you don't wear yours, so I've left it on the chair." I motion to it. Good segue, Grey.

"I could wear a sweatshirt Taylor packed," she smiles. Why is she smiling? What's she teasing about?

"You don't want to wear a sweatshirt. You might spill all over yourself and then where would you be?"

"In the other sweatshirt Taylor packed."

"Ana, please. You don't want to sip champagne in a sweatshirt."

"We're sipping champagne are we?"

"There happens to be a bottle out there. Besides, it's very French to have breakfast in your bathrobes."

"Are we pretending we're French?" She moves to her elbows, always eager for information. Unfortunately for me, she's pulled the sheet up so I can't see her breasts.

"No. But, you know..." I pick a piece of invisible lent off the tie of my robed waist. "...maybe we can play like we're in Paris." Was that weird? Does she think that was weird? Of course she does, because it was. Why'd you have to be so weird, Grey?

"Paris?" Her eyes soften at the mention of it and I think she likes my idea after all. "Where in Paris?"

"Well..." Act casual like you haven't thought out the fantasy you've thought out in detail all morning. "Maybe, I don't know... On a terrace that overlooks the Seine on a bright spring morning."

"With flowers picked fresh from a garden and croissants with jam?"

"Well, it is springtime in France..." God, I hope they included croissants! Why didn't I think of croissants?! That's like at the top of the romantic breakfast food chain. Maybe I have time to text Taylor.

The doorbell rings. Fuck.

"That's our breakfast," I say. "Put on your robe and come out and we can be French." I swat her behind and she squeals. "I don't want to eat alone."

"Qui, Monsieur," she says and I'm instantly hard. Sir in English is hot, but Sir in French is other worldly.

I kiss her quickly and go to the living room to answer the buzz.

"Breakfast for the newlyweds," a small older woman with the pinkest mat of hair piled up top says as she wheels in a cart that looks to carry the entire contents of the buffet downstairs and the display window from the caddy corner floral shop.

"Why is there so much?" I ask. I see there are croissants—_Dieu merci!_

"You said double."

"What? I never said double."

She pulls out the order and I read: Romance breakfast double.

"I said 'romance breakfast on the double', not 'double romance breakfast'." Taylor obviously grunted out my order word-for-word and they didn't understand gorilla speak. I wave a hand at the monstrosity, "And how is this double? It looks sextuple."

"No, that stuff is in the lover's basket."

"Sex meaning six, not sex," I shake my head and pinch the bridge of my nose.

"However you play it, ain't my business." Oh brother. "You want me to take all this back?"

"No!" I know what they do with returned food and it's straight to the trash. "It's fine." I sign the ticket and wave her along. Whatever we don't eat, I can have Taylor pass out to the homeless or something. Or maybe he and Gail can have a time of the leftovers. She's a wonder with second day food.

I arrange the table and chairs to my liking, pop the bottle of champagne and make sure croissants and jam are front and center. I spot a note in the floral arrangement at the center: _Congratulations on the first day of the rest of your lives!_ I pick it up off the table and tuck it away in the pocket of my jacket on the chair. I don't want Ana to see it just yet, but I do want to save it—for the rest of our lives.

Ana's footsteps startle me as she comes out in her robe. She's pinned her hair high in a bun and she smells heavenly. Every time she steps into a room it's like a garden's grown in and around my life.

"What do you think?" she asks, turning her back to me so I can see the _Madame_. "Do I look French?"

"You look everything," I say, spellbound. I move to her, turn her to face me and tilt her chin up to give her a kiss. The garden is definitely growing down below.

"Wow, this is quite the spread," she says, as I pour her a flute of champagne. "It's like a Valentine's Thanksgiving."

"My favorite holiday," I say as I clink her glass to mine.

"Mine, too," she says and sips, never taking her blue eyes off mine. And mentally I note the date so as to always remember the first annual Valentine's Thanksgiving Day.

"There are croissants," I say, pointing to the variety.

"Then, it's perfect."

"No, Miss Steele, you are."

She smiles, blushing a bit, as I pull out her chair and she sits down. She watches me as I carefully pour the hot water in her tea cup, take out the tea bag and lay it beside on her saucer, ready for her quick dunk.

"You remember how I like it." She smiles.

"Since that first day at the coffee shop. How could I forget?"

"I think you're sweeter than you give yourself credit for."

"Trust me, sweet is never a word that's been used to describe me," I scoff.

"Well, I'm using it."

"Another first." I smirk. "Though I don't think you know what you're really saying."

She just stares at me a moment, like she's looking right through to my soul. I want to look away, but I just can't.

"So, tell me, what are we doing here?" she asks, raising a brow.

"What do you mean?" I swallow hard. Doing here? As in the hotel or together? Or both? My heart races. Is she trying to have a major talk with me about the future of our relationship?

"In our fantasy? What's the story? Why are we in Paris?" she smiles conspiratorially as she blows on her tea and sips, and I sigh in relief.

She wants to play.

"You are a hopeless romantic, Miss Steele."

"No, I'm a rather hopeful one." And because of her, so am I.

"Well, you've never seen Paris, so I wanted to take you to see the Eiffel Tower, the Arc du Triumphe, the Louvre..."

"That's it?" She scrunches her nose. "We're in the city of lovers just to see tourist attractions?"

"Anastasia, I don't know. I'm not good at telling the story."

"Imagine it," she says and looks up at me with those eyes bluer than the Caribbean that I would be happy to drown in.

"How?"

"It's simple. Close your eyes and picture you and me in Paris."

"Well, you have to close your eyes, too," I say.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you watching me with your eyes open, Miss Steele."

She giggles and closes them and I do the same.

"Well..." I clear my throat, trying to imagine the scene. Of all the scenes I've dreamed up in my life, there's never been anything like this. "When I picked you up from work, I asked you to dinner—"

"And you took me to Paris?"

"Yes. The private jet is on standby."

"Just for dinner? That's obscene. Why would you do that?"

"Because I can." I raise a brow and I can hear her laugh. "This is my story, so hush."

"Oui, Monsieur," she says. There it is again! She's trying to kill me.

"Now, I'm taking you to the finest restaurant just off the Champs-Élysées."

"Are you in tux?"

"Yes, I am. Powder blue with ridiculous tails."

"Stop!" She laughs and I can't help but do the same.

"No, I'm in a black tux and you're in strapless red satin gown—Chanel that I bought you when we arrived."

"You took me shopping?"

"Took you shopping? I shut down the Rue Faubourg St Honoré and spent ungodly amounts of money on you and you loved it and begged for more."

She giggles. This really is a fantasy.

"You are stunning in the gown. Your milky white shoulders are exposed and I take full advantage of this on the elevator ride up to the restaurant." I can almost feel her skin against my fingertips as I run them across her shoulders and up and down the length of her spine, eventually bringing my lips to her neck to taste her. "But, the elevator doors open and we're caught."

She gasps. "Who caught us?"

"Some maître d with a baguette and a half dozen escargot up his ass," I say and she laughs. The fact that she's enjoying this makes me feel like the hero I wish I really was. "But, once he sees who we are, he apologizes and takes us to a private sweetheart table that overlooks the lights of the city."

"What do we have to eat?" She's interested in this? It must be a dream.

"I feed you caviar on toasted brioche..."

"Mmmm," she says and I can almost hear her licking her lips.

"Is there asparagus?" she asks.

"Of course. Dripping in butter." I can picture those delectable spears going into her mouth, her sucking off the butter and the rest dripping onto her chin. And then me cleaning each droplet off with my tongue.

"And is there bass?"

"What?" Fuck, I lost my concentration on the butter and the chin licking.

"Sea bass."

"Yes and I practically have to force feed it to you, but you say it melts on your tongue and you swallow each mouthful with a groan of approval."

"I can think of a few things like that." I have to re-cross my legs on that one. Naughty minx.

"The waiter offers us dessert, but you are far too preoccupied with the opera we are going to attend to focus on the vanilla soufflé."

"You're taking me to the opera?" she asks, excitedly.

"_La Traviata."_

"Oh right. The woman led astray..."

"Well, yes, but tonight it is I who is led astray, because you keep fondling me in our box seat."

She laughs. "I don't."

"You do. I was practically violated."

"Well, I couldn't keep away from you in that tux."

"The scandal you caused!"

"Who saw?"

"Who didn't?"

We both laugh.

"And then what happened?" she asks.

"You mean after we were thrown out?"

"Stop!"

I can't stop smiling. I take a breath and picture the scene—the starlit sky, her eyes sparkling in the twinkle of it and the way she holds to my arm as I lead us through the mostly darkened avenues toward home.

"Well, we take a walk along the Seine. It's a lovely night—not cold—but I still give you my jacket to wear. And there are violins playing the distance—probably from a late concert or an orchestra practicing or that's just the soundtrack to this night in Paris— and you look so lovely in the moonlight, so I stop and ask you to dance."

"In the street?"

"What can I say, I'm a fool and this is a dream."

"And I say yes," she whispers.

"I hold you close as we sway to that distant music and I kiss you there," I whisper now, lost in imagining what a kiss with Anastasia under a Parisian moon set to the music of violins would be. Nothing short of magical. "Then, I take you back to our apartment overlooking the Seine, carry you to our bedroom, and though I want to fuck your brains out, I also want to kiss every inch of you. I just want to crawl inside of you and stay there forever."

She's silent. We both are. Fuck, I got a little carried away. I wonder if she's been scared her off by that creepy weepy sounding last part. I peek one eye open and see that she's staring at me, smiling, and I think there are tears in her eyes.

"And I fall asleep in your arms, in Paris," she says and leans over, runs a hand through my hair and kisses me softly.

I stare at her a moment. She's gazing at me so lovingly, I can almost convince myself that all this can be real.

Almost.

"And then we have to wake up," I say, gathering myself in the realization that it can't be. Sooner or later she's going to wake up and she'll just have been a dream.

"Yes, but we wake up to breakfast on the Seine," she says.

"I would give you Paris, Ana," I whisper, holding her gaze.

She leans over and brushes her fingers over the stubble on my cheek.

"You already have," she says.

If there was ever a moment to tell her how I feel it would be now. Because what I'm feeling is about to burst from my chest and spell the words out in fireworks all over the Parisian sky.

"Eat up, you're going to need your strength today," I say instead, taking her hand from my face and kissing it, before setting it down again. I shake my head. Coward.

"Why? Are you going to lock me in the bedroom?" She grabs and piece of croissant and rips it with her teeth.

"Tempting as that is, no, we're going out."

"Is it safe?" she stops chewing and little crumbs have fallen all down her chin and chest. God, I'd like to pick each one up with my tongue.

"Where we're going, yes. And it's no laughing matter."

"I wasn't laughing," she says with a mouthful, laughing, as more crumbs rain down.

"The evidence of your mirth is all over your chest, Miss Steele."

She looks down.

"Maybe you should help me clean up and get more serious."

"Behave, Anastasia." I shake my head, though I can't hide my grin.

There's a knock at the door.

"Just in time. That'll be Dr. Greene," I say.

"I should go to the bedroom," Ana says, leaping up.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want her to see us having breakfast together."

"Why not?"

"It's too intimate."

"You're going to be examined and administered birth control in our bedroom." And hell, the maid hasn't been in there yet. There's sure to be evidence of last night.

"Yes, but breakfast is just too much."

She scampers away. Madame retreating into the boudoir. Manifique.

"Well, I hope the trip wasn't too harrowing for you," I say as I open the door. "Do come in."

"Mr. Grey, I don't have time for small talk," the good doctor, dressed in the mommiest jeans I've ever seen, says as she steps in and surveys the place. "Did you two get married?"

"Not yet. We're just on our honeymoon."

"Congratulations." She doesn't bat an eye. "Why am I here?"

"Anastasia needs an adjustment on her birth control. I trust you brought all the necessary materials."

"I'm sorry, but that's none of your business."

"You just asked me why you were here."

"Yes, for my information, not your information. I only discuss such medical procedures with the patient." She pulls the strap of her Gucci bag that's falling down her shoulder up.

"I do hope your purse isn't causing you chiropractic trauma these days from all the extra cash you're carrying around."

"Funny. Where is she locked away today?"

"Now you're the comedienne." I laugh, she doesn't. "She's straightening up in our bedroom." I point.

She looks me up and down, a questioning disgust in her eyes, and takes off. What the fuck was that about? She really is a dreadful woman. I wouldn't put up with it, except she's the best and my latex free future is in her needles.

And so I wait. I call Taylor. And then I wait. Taylor calls me. And then I wait some more. Fuck—I've waited so long I finished my breakfast, got hungry again, and went back for lunch. All this waiting is aging me decades and causing me to converse with Taylor far too much about nothing. If I have to look at one more bedspread sample, I'll throw the phone at the miniature sculpture of the thinking man on the coffee table. What the hell is going on in there? It's a shot. Why is this so complicated?

Finally, I hear the bedroom door open and I stand. Thank fuck! Out comes first Dr. Greene, then Ana.

"Everything go smoothly?" I ask, looking straight to Ana as I move to them. She smiles slightly and nods, but won't hold eye contact with me. What's this? The mood has definitely shifted since Paris.

"I'll send the bill." Dr. Greene collects her things and I show her to the door as quickly as humanly possible.

"Thank you. Do tell your husband hello from me when you re-join him in the hot tub." She waves me off and I shut the door.

"Everything okay?" I ask as I turn back to Ana. She nods with that pursed lip grin again. Holy fuck. Of course Dr. Greene is responsible for the purse. "Are you sure?" I step toward her and she doesn't look up at me. "Anastasia, what happened? What did Dr. Greene say?"

"You're good to go in seven days," she says, flatly, moving to look out the window onto the city and away from me.

"Seven days?"

"Yes."

I move to her and place my hands on her shoulders. "Ana, what's wrong?" I kiss her hair.

"Nothing. Christian, just leave it." Oh God, it's worse than I thought. If Cosmo taught me anything it's that a woman who says something is nothing is about to clamp your balls off with her curling iron.

I turn her to face me, cup her chin, and tilt it up so her eyes meet mine. "Tell me," I order, but of course that has no effect. You're using old tactics, Grey. Damn it. What the hell did this woman say to her? No, I know. She told her to leave me. That's why they were in there so long. She probably handed her one of those pamphlets they keep in the office warning women about dangerous men and directed her to a subsequent support group. I thought that was primarily for muggers and dark alley rapists, but who knows, maybe the same rules apply. But, I thought the money would keep that woman's opinions zipped up in her coin purse, at least for a few more visits.

"Christian, it's fine. I just want to get out of this robe and get dressed." She moves out of my reach.

My heart nearly stops, drops and rolls. She wants to get out of the robe so quickly. What about Paris?

"Let's go take a shower," I say. Maybe when we're naked I can get this information out of her. Or I can dazzle her. Or both. I knew she would wake up eventually, but not after a visit with my gynecologist.

"Of course," she says. Good; she still wants to be naked with me. That's something.

"Come," I take her hand and hold to it firmly, so as not to ever let her go, and lead her to the bathroom. I immediately turn on the shower and strip down, hanging my bathrobe carefully on the door.

"I don't know what's gotten into you or if you're just tired," I say as I undo the loop of her robe. "But, I'd like you to tell me, because my imagination is running away with me and I don't like it." The number of punishments I could inflict for a stunt like this runs through my mind, but that's overpowered by the yearning to hold her. And the cruel reality is I can't do either at the moment. I'm powerless.

"Fine," she says and I watch her like one would watch a volcano threatening to explode. "Dr. Greene scolded me about missing the pill. She said I could be pregnant."

In an instant the volcano I was watching spews, burns me to a crisp and fossilizes my remains.

"What?" is all I can get out. My heart starts to race. Fuck, Elena just warned me about this happening—forgotten pills, accidental pregnancies, how I can't possibly be a father. I couldn't. Not ever. I can't breathe. We were just dreaming of Paris. No one in Paris changes diapers.

"But, I'm not," she says, in reaction to my reaction. "She had me take a test. It was a shock, that's all. How could I be so stupid?"

I breathe a huge sigh of relief. And I feel immense guilt for even entertaining the thoughts Elena put in my head. I swear she plants those seeds so they'll shoot up like weeds later. Has it always been like that? Or is this new?

"You're sure you're not?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Oh, thank God!" I let out a breath and bring her to me, holding her robed body against my naked frame. "I'm sorry. I can see how news like that would be very upsetting."

She pulls back and looks up at me, scrunching her nose. "I was more worried about your reaction."

"My reaction?" What's she talking about? "Well, it would be the height of carelessness and ill manners to knock you up."

"Ill manners?" she frowns. What does she want me to say?

"Well, I wouldn't call it polite."

"No. I mean, I wouldn't be thrilled that it happened now, but..." Oh God, what is she saying? That _now_ means she imagines it could happen later. Fuck. "Maybe we should abstain," she bites.

"Ana, you're in a bad tempered mood this morning."

"It was just a shock, that's all."

I clasp the lapels of her robe and pull her close, pressing her cheek against my naked chest as I hold her.

"I know. I'm not used to this, baby," I kiss her hair. "My natural inclination would be to beat it out of you, but I seriously doubt you want that." Even as I say it, I'm somewhat repulsed that that used to be an option. With those other fifteen, yes. But, with Ana—never.

"No, I don't. But, this helps." She wraps her arms around my bottom waist and hugs me tighter. And we stand there for a few moments as the shower runs and the room builds up steam. After last night and this morning and the last five weeks that have been the absolute best and worst of my life, I've never felt so connected to another person before.

"Come, let's shower," I say, peeling her out of her robe and hanging it carefully next to mine so _Madame_ and _Monsieur_ are a couple again.

I help her into the shower where the forceful jets on the massive head pour down on us. The steam is such that it's trapped thick within the glass and fogs between us. I like my showers hot and unforgiving. That's the only way they feel honest to me.

After a quick soap of my mop, I hand Ana the shampoo and she squirts it in her palm, rubbing it into her hair and sudsing it up between her long skilled fingers down the lengths. She tilts her head back and allows the hot water to rush over her face and against her chest, splashing just between her breasts. I could watch this all day.

As Ana tilts her head into the downpour to rinse, I pick up some body wash and squirt it into my palms, rubbing them together until there's a thick lather, and begin to wash her. I start swirling the soap on her shoulders—massaging them a bit to take out any tension left from the last 24 hours— and then travel down her back, over her perfect little ass and all the way down her legs, not missing an inch of her. She hums in appreciation when my hands start on her front, sliding down her chest to meet her breasts.

"Are they that dirty?" she asks, smiling, as I continue to roll her nipples between my sudsy fingers.

"Filthy," I smile against her neck, then turn her in my arms and move my hands down her naked body, strictly for bathing purposes, of course.

"Now, you're clean," I say, upon finishing with her, kneeled at her feet. I look up to her, swallow, and then take a breath,"But, I'm not." She looks at me quizzically, and our eyes remain locked as I stand.

"Give me your hands," I say. She slowly holds them out to me and I turn them open and squirt body wash into her palms. "I want you to wash off the remaining lipstick."

Her mouth parts like she's about to say something, but she doesn't. She looks unsure, startled almost, but I know this is what I want—for us.

"Just don't stray too far from the lines," I say.

"Okay," she says softly and gently rubs her hands together to make a lather.

I tense automatically when her fingers reach for me.

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"Yes," I say. "I want you to do this." I hold her chin and tip it up so our eyes meet. "I need you to do this."

She nods, then tentatively touches the outer line of my right shoulder with her soapy fingers, erasing the map that was drawn by that same hand yesterday.

"I promise I'll remember where the lines were," she says.

"I know." I breathe hard. "Just keep going."

She starts in on the other side, following the same trail down the side of my chest to the bottom edge of this pathetic lipstick vest of armor I have to wear. What is it protecting me from anymore? From Ana's touch? Any other girl wouldn't have to do this bullshit. She could freely touch her boyfriend. When they made love she wouldn't have to remember the lines. How the hell do I have any right to dream about honeymoons or marriage or Paris when I can't even let her touch my chest? My fists knot at my sides and my breath hitches.

"Are you okay?" she asks, stopping suddenly.

"Yes, just keep going," I pant.

She pours more soap into her shaking palm and moves to my other shoulder. Fuck, I've scared her.

"Ready?" she asks, before her fingers find my skin.

"Yes," I say, gritting my teeth, trying to hold onto a shred of my dignity, as she moves down and across the line of my stomach. She hasn't looked up at me. Is she ashamed of me, too?

She starts to move to the sides of my chest and in reflex I jerk away.

"I'm sorry, baby," I say and take hold of her hand attempting to put it back in place, but as she finally tips her head up to me I see that she's crying. "No baby, no." I take hold of her shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, Christian," she sobs, tears streaming down her face.

"No baby, please don't cry." I pull her into my arms and keep her close against my chest, where she sobs into my neck. I hate myself for causing her this pain. She moves to pull away from me and I take her face with both my hands and pull her into a kiss.

"Don't cry Ana, please," I murmur against her lips. "It was a long time ago. I'm aching for you to touch me. I just can't bear it. I'm so sorry." I bow my head and a sob escapes.

"I want to touch you, too. To see you like this... So afraid... It hurts me so badly. I want to show you how much I love you."

I brush her lips with my thumb, almost willing them to take back those words too good for me, yet at the same time feeling where they just came from. "I know baby, I know," I whisper.

"You're very easy to love, don't you see that?"

I shake my head and look away. "No baby, I don't."

"You are. And I do and so does your family. So do Elena and Leila—they have a strange way of showing it—but they do. You are worthy of love."

"Stop." I put a finger to her mouth. I feel like I'm drowning. Like every tear I've forced myself to never cry is welling up inside of me and taking me under.

"It's true—"

"I can't hear this." I shake my head and my eyes are beginning to well. "Ana, please. I don't deserve it. I'm nothing. I'm a husk of a man."

"You're wrong!"

"I'm not!" I take hold of her shoulders and look at her. "Neither is anyone else who's ever known me. Ask any of them. They'll tell you—I don't have a heart!"

"No, that's not true!" I let her go and look away, but there isn't anywhere to escape. "You do have a heart. And I want it. I want all of it." She clasps my face with both her hands and turns me so my eyes meet hers. "Look at me. You are a good man."

"No, Ana," I try to turn away, but she won't let me.

"You are. Don't ever doubt that. Look what you do for people."

"No, I only do for myself—"

"You know that's not true. Look what you've done for me."

We're both silent, just staring into each other's eyes as the fog of steam gets thicker and the water rushes against the tile.

"Yeah, look what I did. I made you cry and I made you leave. That's who I am. And I know you'll leave again. And you should. I'm just not a good enough man to let you go." Again, I try to look away, but she's too strong for me.

"No. Look what you gave up, what you turned your back on for me." She brushes my cheek and smiles, sweet and sincere. "I know how you feel about me, Christian. And after last night, I'm certain." She inhales as tears form in her eyes again. "You love me."

And there it is. What I couldn't say. She's said it for me. As if she's standing on a life raft and holding out her hand to save me as I've already resigned myself to drowning in the ocean of those unshed tears, because I couldn't save myself.

I dip my head for a moment, my tears falling down the drain and washing away amidst the red stained soap bubbles. In the downpour, I hope she can't see me cry, but I know that she can. I listen to the rushing water; it's forceful and calm and the heat of it pounding down on my back is as it's always been—honest. I then lift my head and as I promised Hemingway once, I say the truest words I know.

"Yes, yes I do."


	33. Chapter 33

_**Thank you so much for all of your reviews on the last chapter. I'm so happy you are enjoying and I thank you for reading and taking the time to write. xx**_

I stand there, speechless, just staring at her through the fog of steam. The water rushing over us feels almost baptismal. Though the chains of my past are working hard to drag me down and away from this moment, I don't move. They're not as heavy as they once were. I wonder if they've loosened over time or if I've gotten stronger. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm no longer pulling them alone.

"Don't overthink this," she says, smiling, as she brushes her hand down my face. My eyes fix on hers as her palm cups my cheek and her fingertips rest at my temple. "It's just you and me. It's simple."

"Simple..." I whisper, testing the word. Nothing about her and me has ever been simple, but it's sure been spectacular.

"It is," she says, still smiling as she runs her hand down my cheek and along the stubble of my jaw. She then traces the outline of my lips with her fingertips. "I love you, Christian Grey and you love me. Simple."

I nod, almost imperceptibly, not taking my eyes off hers. I'm in a sort of trance. If I look away, I fear she'll disappear, because she's really just a dream, isn't she? And as with all dreams, sooner or later you have to wake up.

"Simple," she says softly again, as if to quiet my thoughts that she somehow knows. Then, taking me by surprise, she holds my cheeks with both hands and pulls me into a kiss. Her mouth is warm and her touch is sweet and instantly I'm lost in her.

"Oh Ana," I say and she kisses me more fervently, running her hands through my hair and tugging at my locks. I swear, if I don't have a hair left on my head by the time I'm forty, I'll be the luckiest son of a bitch alive. I wrap myself around her, my erection stirring as I pull her into me and our tongues intertwine.

"Christian," she breathes, tilting her head back, giving me access to her neck as the water splashes against her breasts. I pull her tight to me, and with a hand holding to her chin I recapture her mouth once more.

"I want you so badly," I murmur against her lips, stealing another kiss, then another, and another, until her bottom lip finds place between my teeth and I reluctantly pull away. "But, not here." I rest my forehead against hers and we stand there a moment, holding each other as the water flows down over our intertwined bodies. Out of the corner of my eye I can still see the stain of lipstick collected in suds at the drain. The map washed away by her fingertips, but still not able to fully leave me.

"I want you, too," she whispers and I kiss her forehead, allowing my lips to linger against her skin. Finally, I pull away to turn the shower off, and holding tight to her hand, I guide her out. I make quick work of throwing a towel around my waist and move to grab her robe that's hanging next to mine on the door.

"Here," I say as I wrap her up in it. "You'll catch your death of cold." To my delight she doesn't snort a laugh or roll her eyes, she just smiles and curls herself into the plush terry cloth and into my arms. I think she knows I need this. I take a small towel and run it over her tresses repeatedly, scrunching and squeezing the lengths, making sure she's dry and safe and warm and mine.

"Thank you for taking care of me," she says softly

as I smooth her hair back and away from her face.

"It's all I ever want to do," I whisper.

As I finish winding her hair up in the towel atop her crown, I look up and our eyes meet in the mirror with an intensity which reminds me of the first time our eyes met—only five short and forever weeks ago. And I'm suddenly realizing that if I would've told her that I loved her the moment I helped her up from my floor, I would've been telling her the truth.

"Can I reciprocate?" she asks, a bit timid yet purposeful, pulling me back from my state of introspection. I'm not sure what she means at first, but then I realize she's talking about drying my hair.

"Uh... Yes, of course," I say, but again I clench my jaw and knot my fists at my side. She knows that I love her now, maybe she'll think everything—namely touch— is on the table. It should be. What kind of asshole won't let the woman he loves touch him?

I watch as she grabs a towel from the rack and I gingerly bend down and over to give her access. She must sense my tension, because she strokes my arm lightly just before she begins and that's enough to help me release a struggled breath I was holding.

"Now, I can't let you catch cold, either," Ana says, playfully mimicking me as she ruffles my locks against the cotton.

"Are you taking care of me now, Miss Steele?" I look up at her, grinning like a loon—my go-to face these days. She makes me feel like a loved small boy. And I don't take that feeling lightly.

"Yes, I am. And there's nothing you can do to stop me. You're stuck with me, Grey." She grins.

I watch her in the mirror, wistfully, for a moment as she continues to move the towel through my hair. Oh, if only that were true, Anastasia. How comforting it would be to know that she would really stay forever.

"It's been a long time since anyone's done anything like this for me," I say, my voice a bit hoarse as it unearths this deeply held truth. I clear my throat to try and rid it of emotion. I don't want her to see that I'm really a closeted weeper. "In fact, I don't think anyone's ever dried my hair."

"Surely, Grace when you were young." She runs her fingers through my mop, her nails lightly scratching my scalp as she makes sure my part lines up just right. My Ana.

"No. She respected my boundaries from day one, even though it was painful for her. I was very self-sufficient as a child." I remember the crack whore washing my hair when I was small a few times—when it would get too dirty for even her to bear or she was sober enough to feel guilty for leaving me filthy, I suppose. She'd bathe me in the kitchen sink, with what I think was dish soap, as the bathtub was filled with her drug paraphernalia and whatnot. I didn't know what it was back then, but I've pieced it together over the years. She told me it was her toy chest and I was never to touch a thing. I was jealous of her toys, because she always seemed to like them more than me. I wanted to throw them out the window when she was out one night, but I never did. She played with them that last night I saw her alive and I went to sleep in the middle of the kitchen floor with a sopping wet head in the dead of a Detroit winter. And I still wake from nightmares wondering if she'd have lived if I had gone through with my plan.

"Well, I'm honored," Ana says, startling me out of my recall. Though she's smiling at me, she knows my mind has just been somewhere dark. She always seems to know.

"Thank you, Miss Steele," I say, trying to lighten the mood. "Or maybe it is I who is honored."

"That goes without saying, Mr. Grey." She ruffles the hair on top of my head, then gives me a kiss there. "I think you're done."

"Thank you, Mrs. Taylor," I grin as I take her hand and bring it to my lips.

She giggles and dips her head, then brings her sparkling blues up to me again. It's amazing how whenever she looks at me I can see everything clearer. "You've thanked me twice already, Mr. Taylor."

"It doesn't seem enough." I wrap her hand up in mine and hold it to my heart.

We stand there for a moment looking into the mirror, lost in each other. She almost looks the part of a bride, dressed in the white robe with her hair up and the end of the towel hanging down her back like a veil. And maybe it's that, or being in the honeymoon suite, or the fact that we made love on a bed of rose petals and I just professed my love, but I can almost picture what she'd really look like as my bride. I bet she'd wear white, even though we've made damn sure the only color appropriate would be a shade of blush. And I bet she'd smile as she walked to me—arm wrapped around her father's—down a white carpet aisle with a scattering of rose petals that match her middle name. I bet she'd cry when she said her vows. I bet I would, too. And I bet it would be lovely when I kissed the bride as the sun set behind us and we rode off into our happily ever after. And I've never been a betting man, until now.

"Do you mind if I try something?" she asks quietly, and not taking her eyes off mine, she reaches for a small towel off the rack.

Oh fuck. I tense up, but holding to her gaze I gain the courage to nod. I watch as she slowly runs the towel down my arm—from shoulder to forearm to wrist and each finger on my hand—gently sopping up all that was left from our shower.

Once done, she leans forward and kisses my bicep and I have to take a breath. She gives me a moment, and waits until I nod for her to start again. Moving to the other side, she kisses me down the length of my arm. I can't help but smile at this sweet display of affection. No one's ever kissed me so softly before.

"I'll stay within the boundaries," she says as she carefully moves around to my back. My stomach knots up as her fingertips brush the edge of skin just above my waist slung towel. I forgot, she hadn't washed the lipstick off my back in the shower. As she starts to dry me, hugging close to the line, I take a deep breath to forage courage. I know what I need her to do.

"No. Whole back," I say through gritted teeth. "With the towel."

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"Yes," I nod and take a few sharp breaths, shutting my eyes tight as she brings the towel into the no-go zone.

"_You're a stupid little shit," I hear him scream. "Your mama don't love you. If she did she'd help you right now." He pushes the burning cigarette into my the tender flesh of my back. _

_"No, please Mommy!" I shriek as he holds me down on the ice cold linoleum. "It hurts so bad, Mommy." I'm sobbing, continually pleading for her to save me, but she does nothing. She sits on the couch staring out the window at the train going by. And he laughs as I continue to cry. And though the fire incinerating four-year-old skin is nearly unbearable, it's the smell of my burning flesh that stays with me. _

I shudder and my eyes shoot open.

"What's wrong?" she asks, quickly pulling the towel away from my skin.

"Nothing," I say, trying to catch my breath and gain my bearings. "Keep going, please. I need you to keep going."

"Okay," she whispers and measuredly continues. When her motion slows, I know she's looking at them. And when her breath catches and she stops completely, I know exactly the one she's seen.

"Your back is dry," she says and my shoulders drop in relief. But, I know it's not done.

"My front," I say in a strangled whisper looking down at the water dripping from my chest hair and the scar left from the night I cried for my mother. She watches me and I'm not sure if she can see, but I'm starting to shake.

"Here," she says softly, reaching over to the towel rack again, then handing me a wash cloth. Each time they get smaller, yet more daunting. "Hold this."

I slowly bring my hand forward and open my palm to her. My fingers tremble as she gives me the washcloth, and I almost pull away until her hand brushes mine and because she touched me I don't let go.

"Remember in Georgia?" she asks, as I wrap my fingers around the cloth. "You made me touch myself using your hands."

I nod. Oh shit. I know where this is going. Eyes on Ana's, Eyes on Ana's, I repeat to myself as she reaches for my hand that's holding the washcloth and places it at my heart's center.

"Just move with me, okay?" she whispers and I shakily nod again as she secures her hand on top of mine and slowly slides both me and the washcloth in a gentle motion across my chest. My hand begins to shake again and she steadies me, continuing to steer me down toward the cage of my ribs. It's an odd, terrifying, exhilarating feeling to allow someone else to move you like this. I allowed Elena when I was young, but this is so different. This isn't about mastering control, this is about letting go of it.

"Ana," I say, the trembling of my pinkie finger almost uncontrollable now. "I can't—"

"You're fine. Breathe with me," she says and I inhale slowly with her, closing my eyes to listen to her breath. I gasp at first, but she rests her head against my shoulder and I find strength to take the next breath and then the next, until I hear what sounds like the ocean waves falling away and then rolling into the shore again and it reminds me of a happy time with my family on a beach vacation we took when I was eight. I loved the water. It was strong and powerful, yet at the same time oddly still and at peace with itself. For longer than any of us will set foot on its sand, it will continue. And as I breathe here with Ana, I realize that's what she's helping me do. I told Grace that day that I wanted to be powerful like the sea. Today, with Ana, I finally am.

"I think you're dry now," she says as she drops my hand and I immediately drop the towel and turn in her arms.

"I need you, Anastasia," I whisper, taking hold of her face with both my hands.

"I need you, too," she whispers in return and for a moment I close my eyes to allow those words to sink in. I open them again and see her bright eyes the color of new morning sky staring into mine. I bring my mouth to hers, pouring all the emotion that's welled up inside of me in these last minutes and over a million lifetimes into this kiss.

"Let me love you," I murmur against her lips.

"Yes," she says against mine, and I immediately pick her up and forge our path to the rose petal covered canopy bed.

"Ana... I—" I say, as I set her on her feet at the edge of the bed. She puts her fingers to my lips to shush me.

"I know," she says and then replaces her hand with her lips. "I always knew."

"Me, too," I hoarsely whisper and then untie her robe, peel her out of it and throw it onto the chair. Kissing her passionately, I lift her and lay her back onto the bed, my towel lost without much effort onto the floor as I crawl over her and then wrap myself around her. Her hands knot up in my hair and I groan as she pulls me to her, forcing my tongue further inside her mouth. My erection slides back and forth between her thighs and the evidence of her arousal wets my hip as our bodies move against each other.

I grab a condom from my bag that's splayed open next to us on the floor and immediately sit astride her again. As I fix it on my length, I look deep into her eyes that don't leave mine. Her damp hair is scattered on her shoulders and chest and her cheeks and lips are still flushed from the steam and the moments after. Like last night, the need to be close to her, to feel every inch of her, to love her is overwhelming. But, I just want to look at her a moment longer.

"What?" she whispers and I notice a ray of sunlight peeking through the blinds and lighting her hair. God, she's gorgeous. "Is something wrong?" Fuck, I guess I've been staring at her with my dick in my hand far longer than the moment I thought.

"No, Ana.." I whisper in return, and in a scene straight out of a corny Disney film, some birds begin to chirp outside in the trees. And though I'm not enough of a dreamer to believe they're singing just for us, I've become enough of a romantic—or at least a hopeful one— to simply enjoy the song.

"Everything is finally right," I say, and holding my gaze to hers, I slowly sink into her and for the second time in our honeymoon suite, we make love.

And as we come powerfully together, much like the ocean in its timeless strength and peace, I think maybe I was wrong. Maybe the birds are singing just for us.

#######

The trees are full with music as Ana lays wrapped around her pillow in post coital glow. Maybe she's really Snow White. She certainly is a fairytale to me.

"What do you think they're singing?" she asks, as I run my fingertips down the length of her spine. I notice she's got the cutest little birthmark on the back of her right hip. It almost looks like a kiss by an angel. Is it irrational to be jealous an angel was kissing her there? She's mine, Gabriel. I laugh and lean over and kiss it myself.

"I think they're happy," I say, and some unnamed emotion suddenly catches in my throat. It's those butterflies again wanting to fly.

"Why are they so happy?" she asks, tucking her face into the pillow and smiling up at me so coy and utterly adorable.

"Because it's finally summer," I say and lean over to kiss her shoulder, tasting sunshine itself.

"But, I thought springtime is when the birds sing."

"No, that's when it all starts, but summer is when the real fun begins."

"Really?" She smiles.

"Yeah, and we're lucky because it's just the beginning." I move my mouth across her upper back and she sighs, content.

"So you can be gentle," she murmurs, as I skim my lips up the bend of her neck until I reach that soft, tender place just behind her ear.

"Hmm...so it would seem, Miss Steele," I whisper and inhale the scent of her there.

"You weren't particularly the first time," she grins.

"No?" I smirk, looking up and then leaning back onto my side, propped up on my elbow with a hand behind my head. "You mean when I robbed you of your virtue..." I tuck her hair behind her ear.

"I don't think you robbed me," she says, playfully aghast at my implication. "I think my virtue was offered up pretty freely and willingly." She lifts her head and leans in so her bottom lip is torturously close to my teeth. "I wanted you too, and if I remember correctly, I rather enjoyed myself."

"So did I if I recall, Miss Steele. We aim to please," I grin. That night will go down as one of the greatest in my life, replaced by last night, of course, and today and will probably be replaced by a thousand tomorrows, but still it will hold medal in my memory. She gave me what she gave nobody else—herself. And that was everything. "And it means you're mine, completely." I look up at her, hopeful that's the case.

"Yes, I am," she says, reaching over to brush a lock of hair that's fallen out of place on my forehead. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead." Lord, please let this not be about Elena.

"Your biological father..." Now I wish it was about Elena. "Do you know who he was?"

"No, I have no idea. Wasn't the savage who was her pimp, thank God."

"How do you know?"

"Something my dad...something Carrick said to me." I turn over on my back and face the ceiling, crossing my hands above my chest. Just talking about that worthless excuse of a human being causes me to involuntarily protect myself.

I look over at Ana who's watching me, waiting for more. I swear, she's worse than Flynn. But, so much better.

"So hungry for information, Anastasia," I sigh and shift my eyes again to the ceiling. "The pimp discovered the crack whore's body and phoned it in to the authorities." I can still see him shaking her. He was trying to revive her I guess, but I thought he was hurting her, so I tried to push him so he'd leave us alone and she would wake up and we could be happy. At four I believed this was still possible. He swiftly kicked me and I flew across the room, the wind and my fantasy completely knocked from me, and she still didn't wake. Though, that wasn't the first time I got the air in my lungs kicked out of me, it's the time I remember most vividly, probably because it's the last. And I'd like to say I got him back in the end somehow by getting a perfect family and gaining my fortune, but she's still dead and he still goes on. And the woman that I love has to draw on me in lipstick so that she doesn't go to the places he did. "It took him four days to make the discovery. He shut the door when he left...left me with her...her body."

After he left, I remember fighting to catch my breath and running over to her. One of her earrings had fallen off when he shook her. They were some cheap diamond looking things she probably picked up at a nickel and dime store or she stole, but all I knew at four was that they were her favorite. She'd dress up with them for "work" and ask me how she'd look and I'd tell her she was fancy. She loved that; it was one of the few things that made her smile. I think she was the kind of girl who wanted so badly to be fancy, she gave everything else away just for that word. Anyway, I looked everywhere for her earring that night and finally found it rolled under the refrigerator. I cut my hand trying to retrieve it and when I finally did, I put it back in her ear. I told her she was fancy as I curled up next to her under my blanket, but she didn't smile or say anything; of course she was dead. I slept with her there until bright lights shined in my eyes and people I didn't know pulled me away. I always wondered if they left her earrings on when they buried her. Though, all these years later they're probably not so fancy; they're likely just two pieces of glass lost in a sea of her bones.

"Police interviewed him later," I say, shaking my head to rid myself of this memory. "He denied flat out I had anything to do with him, and Carrick said he looked nothing like me."

"Do you remember what he did look like?"

"Anastasia, this isn't a part of my life I revisit very often. Yes, I remember what he looked like. I'll never forget him." I can still see him coming at night. It was the worst when I was sleeping and he'd wake me up with a fresh burn, or worse yet, stick the cigarette in a wound that was still healing. I wasn't prepared for him in my sleep. Perhaps that's one reason I can never sleep well. There's still a place in me that fears he'll find me again when I least expect it.

"Can we talk about something else?" I ask, closing my eyes and rubbing my face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's old news, Ana." I pick up her hand and stroke it. "Not something I want to think about."

"So what's this surprise, then?" she asks with a suddenly beaming smile.

"What?" I ask, setting her hand down again, but not letting go.

"You said you had a surprise for me. Surely, it wasn't the shot from Dr. Greene."

"No, that's definitely not your surprise." I look up to her and laugh. Good, let's talk about our day. I roll onto my side again to face her. "Do you mind going out for some fresh air? I want to show you something."

"Of course."

"Good," I smile, then sit up quickly and smack her behind. She squeals. "Get dressed. Jeans will be fine. I hope Taylor's packed some for you."

I stand and throw on a pair of boxer briefs. She's staring at me with the most lascivious smile.

"Up," I scold.

"Oh, I'm just admiring the view," she says as she bites the pad of her thumb.

"Miss. Steele," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Wait, are you rolling your eyes?"

"Guilty as charged. But, only by way of defense."

"Defense of what?"

"Your sexualizing of me."

She giggles. "You don't want me to?"

I move to her and pull her up and out of the bed and into my arms.

"Oh I do, baby, but we have a task at hand."

"So, do I." She reaches down and skates her hand over my cock.

"Anastasia, as much as I want to spend the entire day in that bed with you, we need to get dressed." I shake my head and adjust myself before reaching into her bag that Taylor packed to find her some underwear. Petal pink lace, I like. Though I need to adjust myself again.

"Here," I toss the panties to her and she reaches out to grab them in mid air.

"You're a good catch," I say.

"And don't forget it," she says and we both smile. As I put on my jeans I cut my eyes over, watching as she slides her panties up her long luscious thighs. Fuck.

"Dry your hair," I say, shaking my head to get my mind off of my tongue tasting its way up her inner thighs and feasting on the river running through it. Fuck, I'm practically drooling. Get ahold of yourself, Grey. I slide on a pair of my own jeans and then sort through the rest of her things. Good, there are jeans for her as well. And a shitload of sexy bras. It's like La Perla set up factory in here. What the hell did Taylor do, clean out her entire unmentionables drawer? I clench my fist at the thought of Taylor doing his gorilla number with his paws all over her bras. Though maybe he was just planning thoroughly for our _honeymoon_. I'll choose to believe the latter version so I don't have remove his testicles.

"Domineering as ever." She smirks, grabbing the jeans from my hand.

"That's never going to change, baby. I don't want you sick." I lean over to kiss her brow and I can literally feel her rolling her eyes. "Well, if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black," I smile against her skin and she snorts a laugh. Taking hold of her chin, I tip it up to me. "My palms still twitch, you know, Miss Steele."

"I am glad to hear it, Mr. Grey. I was beginning to think you were losing your edge." She twists her lips into smirk and pulls away to put on the jeans.

What's that supposed to mean? I'm rather enjoying our newfound lovemaking. Isn't she? Is she asking for another spanking? Do I ask her if that's what she's asking? No, I don't want to push anything. But, then I can't just spring one on her, can I? That's what I miss about contracts. Everything is written down. Fuck, relationships are hard.

"I could easily demonstrate that is not the case, should you so wish," I say. That was pretty casual and democratic sounding. Good job, Grey.

She puts a finger to her lip and her eyes shoot up to the sky as if she's debating it. "I'll think about it." Maddening, wonderful, maddening woman.

Ana puts on her bra, purposely teasing me with provocative cup adjustments and libidinous strap pulls, then turns on the hairdryer on full blast as I try to calm my dick and finish dressing.

My phone buzzes. Taylor's calling. Good, that'll deflate my cock. I duck out into the living room to answer it quickly. It could be news about Leila.

"Taylor, what is it?"

"I found a lovely duvet at the Pottery Barn. Do you want the matching towels for the en suite bathroom, sir?"

"Yes, fine." He's found beige towels. Alert the presses. Although, I want to speak to him about something that the press would knock down walls to hear.

I peek back into the bedroom to make sure the dryer is still on and Ana can't hear what I'm about to say. She's singing something by Adele. I'm not familiar with the song, but I recognize the mildly stalkerish angst. "Now listen to me, Taylor. I have a task for you." I take a deep breath. "I need you to take everything out of Miss Steele's closet upstairs—clothes, shoes, handbags, jewelry, everything."

"Sir, are you sure?" He sounds horrified. Like I've just asked him to record over his old VHS tapes of combat practice with that Adele video.

"Yes, I'm sure. Everything. Even the computer. I don't want a trace of Ana in that room, got it?"

"But, Mr. Grey, I thought you were enjoying the bridal suite."

"That's what gave me the idea."

"Oh no, sir."

"Yes, and I need it done immediately."

"Didn't you enjoy the breakfast? Perhaps I should have them send up another bottle of champagne and some additional strawberries."

"What are you babbling about?" What the fuck? Why are his ass hairs curled within an inch of their life today? Oh wait, he thinks I'm breaking it off with her. I've asked him to do this kind of thing before. "No, Taylor. Listen to me, this is different than before. I want you to put everything you take out of Miss Steele's closet into mine."

"You mean intermingled?"

"Yes, of course." First step in operation-get-Ana-to-move-in-with-me-before-I-give-her-the-house.

"Oh sir."

"Don't get all romantic with me, Taylor. Just make sure it happens before we get home tonight."

"Yes sir, right away." He's so damned happy. This Snow White take I was imagining before could be a reality if he remains all "hi ho, hi ho" about things when it's off to work he goes. Although, that would make him a pretty tall dwarf and what would I be—the woodsman? Elena's definitely that witch with the mirror. "And sir, the dealership called and wanted to know if you'd like the exact same make and model as the others."

"The same?" I ask, thrown off by the question. It's stopped me in my tracks.

"Yes, sir. The same as the others you've ordered in the past. They have the replica of Miss Steele's but in a metallic gray and a gunmetal."

"What's the difference?"

"About a thousand dollars, sir," he says. "I told them I'm sure either would be fine, but I'd get back to them with your choice in color for Miss Steele."

"My choice for Miss Steele..." I trail off. Suddenly there's an ill feeling in my gut. The woman who I just professed my love for would be driving around in the same car as Leila and Susannah and all of them.

"Sir, are you still there?"

"Yes," I say, but my mind is on fifteen other Audi A3s.

"Have you made a decision, Mr. Grey?"

"I don't want that damn metallic silver, Taylor!"

We're both silent for a moment.

"Okay... Then, gunmetal, sir?"

"No, I don't want that fucking color, either!"

"Shall we wait for red, then?"

"No, we're not waiting for anything! Tell them to go fuck themselves, because God as my witness there's no way I'm ever buying another A3 again!"

"Yes, Mr. Grey."

I hang up. Damn, what am I going to do about that car?

#######

"Where are we going exactly?" Ana asks as we stand outside by the valet waiting for my car. It's been five fucking minutes. Like I don't know what they're up to? Some idiot's been joyriding in the thing since the second I dropped it off. I won't be surprised to get a ticket for being part of some downtown Seattle drag race. They better not have fucked up my fender again.

"It's a surprise," I say, holding tight to her hand. Some guy in a polo shirt and entirely too much gold adornment for me to be comfortable with gives Ana the old perv eye. I subtly snarl his way.

"You said that before."

"And the answer is still the same." Goodbye fucker. Stop hanging around the shrubbery. I can smell you from here. Thankfully she's not wearing anything he can look up.

She crosses her arms and pretends to huff and I put my arms around her, pull her to me and give her a kiss.

"Do you have any idea how happy you make me feel?" I murmur.

"Yes...I know exactly. Because you do the same for me."

Oh Ana. I kiss her again.

I look over and the gilded shit wipe is gone. Flush, down the drain. That's right fucker, she's mine.

The valet zooms up, far too fast for my taste, but I'll let it slide. I make Ana happy. I'm on cloud 9.

"Great car, sir," the idiot with a zit the size of a second head says as he gets out.

"I know," I say and give him enough of a tip to take a trip to the dermatologist, then nudge him out of the way so I can open the door for Ana myself.

"After you, Madam," I say, ushering her into the car.

"Thank you, Monsieur," she says and I shut the door. And I find myself smiling, thinking of Paris all the way to the driver's seat as the birds start to sing again.


	34. Chapter 34

**_Thank you again for all your reviews! I'm sorry for the delay on chapters, but I'm going between both stories. Thanks for your patience and love! Much more to come! xox_**

I am standing in a strange land, amidst sleek, chiseled bodies of every color. They're beautiful and they look friendly enough. From what I've heard they're safe, though I'm still not 100% sure I can trust them. I'm sweating and my heart is starting to race. I feel like I'm cheating, eyeing and touching these Swedish models, running a hand along a sporty number's tight back end—all with the plan to take one home. Maybe I am cheating, though I'm under no contractual obligation to anyone. Still there's been an unspoken promise of fidelity. But, I have to ask myself the question—is it really possible to be in a completely monogamous relationship with a car manufacturer?

"What are we doing here?" Ana asks, pulling me out of my test drive terror filled trance. I find myself staring at the sign atop the dealership that reads _SAAB_, and there's a real fear I might have to escape to the restroom to do so. I think I've been fixed on that sign far longer and with more intensity than I realized as some toothy lady, with an equally dentally challenged son, is looking at me like she's considering calling for security.

"We're here because we need to be here, Ana," I say, taking a deep breath, then turning to her and taking hold of her hand. "I need to be here."

She stands there for a moment, looking at me like she either gets the magnitude of this moment or she's also considering calling security—or Flynn. Maybe I should have said something when I saw the _SAAB_ sign signaling to me from the side of the highway or when I switched two lanes fast, shot off the exit ramp and barreled into the lot. Maybe I also should have said something when we got out and I just started staring at the sign.

"Why do we need to be at the Saab dealership?" she asks slowly, as if talking to a child or a caged animal.

"To purchase a vehicle," I say.

"But, this isn't Audi," she says as if I'm arguing the earth is flat, and I kind of am.

"Miss Steele, there are cars other than Audi." Keep repeating this, Grey.

"But, you don't own any of them."

"Listen, I'm a guy breaking new ground these days. I had breakfast in a bathrobe in Paris this morning, after all." I smile.

"So, you want a Saab because you ate in your bathrobe overlooking the Seine?" She's smiling and it lights up every cell in my body.

"No," I'm still smiling, simply because she is. Damn she's magic. "I mean, yes, but... the car is for you."

"For me?"

"Yes."

"But, you said the new Audi was coming Monday."

"I canceled it."

"What? Why?"

"I wanted to give you something... different." Her eyes soften as they fix onto mine and I bring the back of her hand to my lips. "Something more." I cup her face with my other hand and brush my thumb against her cheek, and then softly bring my mouth to hers.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here!" a man's voice startles us out of the moment. Man is a generous word; he's more like a platypus in lifts, wearing a suit browner and more ill fitting than Welch's. His mustache is still wet with the evidence of his last sip of coffee. "A very happy couple looking for the ride of their lives, that's who." He laughs, and from the rasp and degree of moisture coming from the cough he nearly sprayed me down with, I can tell he's at least a two-pack-a-day-er. "Let me guess, this is a first for you both."

"How'd you know?" I grin at Ana, giving her hand a squeeze. What always amazes me is that she squeezes back.

"You look like the kinda folks that want to go places together," he says, motioning with his arm like it's taking off down the road and it leaves me wondering—why the fuck can't he?

"Yes, far away from here," I say and Ana nudges me with her hip.

"Say no more. You'll be on the road before you know it. I'm Troy Turniansky," he rattles off fast and holds out a hand I don't shake.

"How's that?" I ask.

"Turn-i-ansky. Think like turning-a-key-sky to your new car, see?" He grins. I don't. "You know all of your problems are over because of me."

"Actually, I think they're just beginning," I mutter, and get another hip nudge.

"You know, I saw you when you came in," he says. "I know what you like."

"You were watching me?" I ask, and look down to Ana's tits to make sure they're covered properly and he wasn't watching them, too. Thank God for the sweater. Though she's wearing low sneakers and her ankles look sexy as hell today.

"I eyeball all my customers," Troy says. "I get a feel of what gets them going. What sparks their need to drive. Is it speed? Is it comfort? Is it Swedish innovation and the freedom that can only come from a vehicular behemoth like Saab?" Why is this getting creepy all of a sudden?

"Listen, we don't need—"

"This is the car for you." He pats his paw on the hood of a pukey green hatchback—the mom jeans of vehicles.

"That's an old car." I look at it with offense. "An old, green car."

"Metallic Cyan, 2009," he says and his lips spray a bit. I step back a pace, bringing Ana with me. I don't want her to catch some car salesman's disease. "She's a pre-owned beauty. A grandmother bought her with all the money she saved, then ended up braking both her legs walking up the rain soaked stairs of her apartment complex, so she could never drive her. They had to send her to assisted living."

"Oh my god," Ana gasps, putting a hand over her mouth, and we both cringe.

"I know," he says. "What luck, huh? No miles on this beauty!" He sticks his thumb up and I wonder if it's the same one he sticks up his ass and spins on at night. "Quality and a steal of a deal!"

"Listen, your grandmother eaten by the wolf fairytale is charming and all," I say. "But, we don't want pre-owned and a deal. We want new and expensive."

"Well, take a look around," he says. His eyes are lit up like a slot machine that cheats you out of every quarter until you finally win a dime.

"You two newlyweds?" he asks me, while Ana is examining the ski racks on a sedan. She better not get any ideas about Aspen.

"On our honeymoon," I say and grin to myself.

"Well, you may want to think about a bigger model for the little ones coming along, huh?"

Little ones coming along? I gasp. First I betray Audi and now I'm having a family. The next thing you know Taylor and I will be dressed up in ridiculous costumes performing in school plays with the kids while Ana's pregnant with twins!

"Listen, we don't need to peruse anymore. We know what we want," I say as Ana returns to my side and I put an arm around her waist and pull her close. "A 9-3 2.0T Sport Sedan." That's always in the Car and Driver Safest lists.

"Oh, that's an excellent choice," he says. "And two extra seats in the back." He winks at me.

"Why did he say that?" Ana whispers.

"Because he's a car salesman. They get off on maximum seating options."

"Would you like to take a little test drive?" he asks.

"You mean take the car out on the road with other vehicles?" I ask, disgusted. "No, we'll purchase it outright."

"Wonderful! Let's go back to my computer in my office to discuss."

After a cubicle maze that nearly drove me to take my own life with a staple gun, we arrive at his computer. Hell, I think I used that thing in grade school to play the Oregon Trail.

"Let's see," Troy says, miraculously fitting his ass between the metal bars of his chair. I'm not sure he'll ever get back out. His ass fat is hanging over both sides like saddlebags and wrapping around the bottom. "We have alpine, alpine metallic, alpine iridescent—"

"What color would you like, Anastasia?" I ask. This question is odd for me, as I've never given submissives a choice—in anything. Asking her what she wanted to eat before was a milestone, now this. New frontiers, Grey!

"Umm...black?" she shrugs.

"Black?" I freeze up. I think she and Troy notice the degree of my uncomfortability with the color, as they're staring. "Black isn't easily seen at night," I say as way of explanation. I can see Troy assessing this conversation. He must really be anxious to make this sale. It's been a whole five minutes and he hasn't taken a cigarette break or pissed himself.

"Okay, how about canary yellow?" she asks, twisting her lips.

"Ana—" I say.

"Okay. What color would you like me to have?" she asks, again talking to that child or predator. This is a question more suited to me.

"Silver or white," I say.

"Okay, silver," she says.

"Good, silver," I say to Troy.

"Christian, you know I'll still take the Audi," Ana says.

"Maybe you'd like a convertible," Troy interjects fast. "Forget the kids. Have fun for a four year lease." Jesus, maybe I was wrong about him pissing himself.

"Listen, we don't want a convertible," I say emphatically, then look to Ana, who's eyes have just lit up like fireworks. No, I don't want a convertible, but I think Ana does.

"Convertible?" I ask her and she flushes.

"Whatever you think," she says, trying to play it off, but I can see she's thinking how fun a convertible would be. Hell, can I handle this? I have one, but the idea of Ana's head being in open air while driving on a road with other vehicles is enough to send me to an early grave. I'm about to protest, but Christmas morning in her eyes makes my early demise seem worth it.

She wants a convertible.

"What are the safety stats on a convertible?" I ask fast, before I come to my senses.

"Oh, they're excellent, sir." He shows me a paper and rattles off statistics. And though I hear all the right facts and figures, I stay focused on the smile spread across Ana's face.

"Okay a convertible," I say. Ana squeals and hugs me and I feel on top of the world. What an odd sense of joy to only give to make someone else happy. But, it's not just someone—it's her.

"I want it top of the line," I say. "Everything. No scrimping. Especially on safety features."

"Yes, sir," Troy says. His hands are typing so fast and free, they look like they're orgasming. "We don't have it here, but I can have one with your precise specifications delivered from our Beverly Hills location within a few days."

"Good." I look to Ana as he types on the computer. "Are you happy?"

She nods. "But, not just because you bought me a car."

"Thank you for accepting it. This was much different than the last time."

"Yes, much different." She smiles and reaches her hand around my neck and gives me a kiss.

"Whatever you're high on, I'd like some Miss Steele," I murmur against her lips.

"I'm high on you." She smiles.

"Do you like the car?"

"It's not an Audi A3..."

"That's not the car for you." I brush her face and kiss her forehead.

"Should we work on financing, sir?" Troy asks.

I roll my eyes. Please. "No, put it on my card."

#######

"Is everything ready, Taylor?" I ask as I talk to him on my phone after I've secured Ana inside my R8.

"Yes, sir. Everything is on standby until you're ready to depart. And the duvet is lovely, Mr. Grey."

"Good, we're running a little late. We're still at the Saab dealership." That fucker Troy is hanging out at the window staring at my ride. I want to flip him off, but then I may have to wait until midweek to get Ana's car and who knows what acts of sin he would've committed on the leather upholstery.

"The what?" Taylor asks, like I just told him I sold my left testicle to the passing gypsies.

"The Saab dealership," I say slowly, so it'll sink into his head. "The car. I bought Ana a vehicle, so you don't have to worry about it."

"You did this yourself, Mr. Grey?" he asks. Actually, I think the testicle sale would be far more believable to him.

"Yes, why do you sound so surprised?"

"Well, I don't know, sir. You've just never stepped into a dealership before, let alone a competitor." He's right, Audi always sends over their best new models for me to approve.

"Listen, I don't own fucking stock in Audi, Taylor. Well, I mean I do, but it's not like I'm CEO." Christ, why does he sound like his rah rah Audi panties got rolled up and stuffed up his asshole? "Not that I need to explain myself, but I wanted to buy Ana a different kind of car, that's all."

"Yes, Mr. Grey." I can hear the smile in his voice.

"Now then, I want to make sure you remember our bathrobes and the flavored massage butters."

"How's that, Mr. Grey?"

"When you pack up our hotel suite." Honestly, doesn't he know anything? "These things are very important. And there's a ton of food. Take what you like and give the rest to the homeless. I'll be in touch."

I hang up and take my place in the driver's seat next to Ana.

"Now, then," I say as I start up the engine. "Time for your next surprise."

#######

"Keep your eyes closed," I say to Ana as I help her out of my R8. "Don't make me blindfold you."

"Promises, promises," she says as I get her to standing. I nip her ear and she laughs. "I can't see."

"That's the idea."

"But, I'm going to fall," she says as we start to move and grabs onto my forearm for support.

"No, you're not," I say, wrapping my other arm around her waist to steady her. "I would never let you fall, Anastasia."

"I know," Ana says, and I kiss her hair.

One foot in front of the other, I bring her to the spot of my choosing and remove my hand from her eyes. It's the very spot I looked out on that first made me want to sail. She gasps when she sets eyes on the Puget Sound and I smile. She likes it.

"Is this my surprise?" she asks and that Christmas morning look returns. And I realize, then and there, that I would do absolutely anything for that look.

"One of them." I wrap my myself around her from behind and kiss the side of her head. "Think of this as an appetizer to the main course."

She looks up at me, mischievously. "I hope you're the main course."

"Behave, Miss Steele." I raise a brow, but can't contain my grin. Oh the things I will do to you, Miss Steele, when rocking on the waters on that manly feminine beige duvet. The only thing that stops my smiling in this moment is her lips reaching up and finding mine.

"There are so many boats," she murmurs as we now walk hand-in-hand down the wood slatted path. The smell of the sea is soothing. The salt thick in the air and the fog light. I remember the first time I took this walk, though I wasn't holding anyone's hand. I came here to find solitude, comfort, a sense of peace. The water has the ability to make you feel alone and surrounded all at once. To be touched by something powerful, yet not touched at all.

"Are you cold?" I ask and I pull her in close, rubbing the goose pimples from her arm.

"No, I'm just admiring the view," she says and I lose my breath watching her watch the sky and the water, as the wind whips her hair and the sun lights her face. This looks like a painting, except it's real life.

"Me, too," I smile. "I could look at it all day." Though I'm only looking at her. And then I imagine her eyes set on this same water and sky, except from the terrace of our new home. And if I am the luckiest man on earth, we'll grow old together by twenty thousand sunsets.

"Come this way," I say, pulling her close as I steer us toward the pier.

Speaking of growing old together, an elderly man and woman walk ahead of us. She has her arm tucked in his as he points to something in the distance that makes her laugh. She tells him how beautiful everything is. But, as we get closer I notice that she doesn't see what he sees, because she can't see at all. He's merely guiding her along and telling her of all the beauty he sees so that she can see it herself. And something about this reminds of Ana telling me this morning in that shower that she knows that I love her. Though I couldn't say the words myself, she said them for me and it was beautiful. And maybe that's what real love is—the kind that lives through all those sunsets. Maybe it's, simply put, helping someone see a blue horizon in the darkness.

"Dante," I say to the bartender as we make our way inside SP's, the seaside tavern at the end of the pier. It's a favorite place of mine just before I set sail. The people here are friendly and I can be myself. I don't find that many places.

"Mr. Grey," he says as Ana and I sit on bar stools. He smiles when he sets eyes on her. He's never seen me with a girl before, either. Jesus, they're all beside themselves. "Who do we have here?"

"This lovely lady is Anastasia Steele," I say, a bit choked up with pride. "She's my girlfriend." I look to her and she smiles, but suddenly _girlfriend_ doesn't seem enough. Silly high schoolers have girlfriends. Well, not me, I had a dominatrix. But, what I've experienced with Ana so far defies definition, though fiancé or wife would suit it better. Soulmate says it best. But, if I introduce her as my soulmate, Flynn will definitely be called.

"Well, it is a delight to meet you, Miss Steele," Dante says, in his soulful Caribbean accent, as he leans across the bar to shake her hand. Hey, careful with the fingers, buddy! Not so touchy-touchy.

"Just Ana, please," she says.

"Well, I'll be!" He laughs joyously loud, alerting The Sound that the billionaire finally struck it rich. "Hey, everyone!" he calls out and the entire place turns. Well, a handful of tourists, a couple of fishermen and the wait staff. "Mr. Grey has brought his beautiful girlfriend to see us."

I can hear a gasp, probably from that little floozie Marta who always gives me extra salt water taffy and her number with the check. Everyone else applauds. And there's an odd cheer. So much for solitude.

"Yes, thank you, Dante," I say and one of the older waiters with a patch over his eye whistles as I put an arm around Ana.

"I'd like to propose a toast," Dante says.

"No, it's fine," I say. What the hell has gotten into him? He usually leaves me alone at my stool to enjoy my beer and my chowder crackers.

"No, sir, it's on me. A shot of rum all around." The crowd really cheers at that one. If you want to get people excited give them free liquor and a love story. Now I know the secret of reality television.

The waiters pour and pass the shot glasses. Jesus, could this be any more embarrassing? I'll remember not to invite him to our housewarming party—or the wedding.

"I'm sorry about this," I whisper to Ana, amidst the ruckus.

"No, this is fun," she smiles and kisses me on the cheek. Of course that same older eyepatch wearing waiter sees this and whistles again. He's got keen vision out of that one eye.

"To Mr. Grey and beautiful Ana," Dante says as he hands us our glasses and then raises his own. "May all the roads you travel together lead you to the beach." He smiles and the crowd cheers as he shoots his rum and we all follow suit. He looks over to me, amidst a smattering of applause and a woman who calls out for an encore simply for another free shot, and gives me a conspiratorial wink. And I know exactly why. The first time he saw me he asked if someone would be joining me and I said no, and that I'd like to keep it that way.

"Would you both like something else to drink?" he asks as the celebration dies down and people return to their pre-purchased booze and fish platters.

I nearly answer for the both of us, but bite my tongue. Girlfriend, Grey!

"Ana?" I ask.

"Oh, whatever Christian's having is fine," she says.

"Yes," I grin at her. "Very well. Two explorers please, Dante. And they have an excellent fish chowder. Would you like the chowder, Anastasia?" Dante's looking at me like I'm a flounder who grew legs and set sail on the Love Boat. Perhaps, I am.

"Yes, that would be nice," she smiles.

"You heard the lady," I say, eyeballing for him to scram.

"Two chowders?" he asks.

"Yes," I say. He probably hoped we'd share one bowl with two spoons so he could ogle our cuteness. But, there's no way anyone's going to watch Anastasia slurp soup, but me.

"Very well, sir," he smiles using every tooth possible, serves us the beer, and then goes on his way.

"I like this place," Ana says. "The people are friendly."

"Much friendlier today," I laugh.

"No, it's true. And I love that it looks so New England."

"Have you been?"

"To New England? No. But, I'd like to." She takes a sip of her beer. Lord, the way that bottle fits on her lips.

"I'll take you. We can go in the fall when the leaves have changed. Maybe take a drive up the coast. There are some lovely bed and breakfasts..." Jesus Grey, next thing you know you'll be apple picking and taking photos in the leaves in matching sweaters.

"That sounds perfect."

"No, this is." I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm glad you like it here. This is a place that's special to me."

"Then, it's special to me, too." She smiles. And it warms my heart that she doesn't need to know why it's special. It's enough for her that it just is.

The chowder comes and it's even more delicious than I remember it, but perhaps it's because it's with her.

"Why do you do what you do?" she asks, blowing on the broth in her spoon. The way her lips are forming that "o" makes me want to set sail. Damn Grey, get ahold of yourself. I haven't fucked her for nearly four hours now, I guess I'm getting restless.

"What do you mean?" I ask, adjusting myself on my stool so it doesn't gain a new leg.

"Your work. What drew you to mergers and acquisitions?"

"I don't know exactly. It's always come easy to me. Pays the bills." I shrug and take a sip of beer.

"Oh come on, you're not giving yourself enough credit. You're better at what you do than anyone." She leans in and touches my hand. "You must have a passion for it to work that hard."

"I guess ever since I was young I liked to build things."

"Like what?"

"Typical boy stuff."

"I want to hear about them."

Ever curious, Miss Steele.

I take a breath and a sip of beer. "Elliot and I built this castle on the beach one summer. Worked for hours on it. It had everything—towers, a bridge, even a moat."

"A moat?" she laughs.

"Yes, it was quite something. Elliot even set up his little army men out front to keep guard and they kept falling in." We both laugh, then I pause remembering how the sun and the sea air felt on my bare chest that day. It was warm and cool all at once. Again, that feeling of being touched and yet not touched at all was comforting to me. "But, the tide came in and washed most of it away. I was devastated."

"Oh no, did you cry?"

"No, I never cried, Ana. And I wasn't speaking then, either. I was rather helpless. Elliot was through with it all and onto something else. But, I couldn't just leave the remains of it there, ruined. So, I sat down in the sand and worked to make it something new. I think I turned it into a hospital for Elliot's fallen soldiers. I figured that way not all of that castle would be lost."

"And that's what you do to companies," she says softly.

"I suppose."

"I think you're very philanthropic."

"Hardly." I take a sip of beer and look away. "Most people would tell you I'm cut throat and ruthless.

"Most people don't know you."

"True." I smile and softly brush her fingers.

"You give so much to people," she says. I roll my eyes and take another sip. "I'm serious. Look at all you do to feed the world's poor."

"You don't have to be a saint to do that. It's just human dignity. There's no reason anyone should go without food or water. And I see tremendous opportunity for building infrastructure and new business in the third world. And it really wouldn't take much." I take another sip. "For example, if you give a woman a sewing machine she can support her family from the clothes she sells. Or if you give a family a goat, they can have milk. It's nothing to us, but it's everything to them. And kids shouldn't starve because no one wants to do anything about it." I realize I've gotten a bit more heated about the topic than I intended to as Dante's looking over here now. I'm sure he fears we've had a fight.

Ana doesn't say anything, she just looks at me a moment, then leans in and kisses me. And that old guy hoots and hollers again. I look back and Dante's grinning like a loon.

"What was that for?" I ask Ana, stealing one more peck.

"For hardly being philanthropic at all." She smiles at me and I feel like I'm gold.

"What about you?" I ask, after a spoonful of chowder.

"What about me?" She takes another bite. But, it's cooled off a touch, so I don't get the "o" action.

"I want to know everything about you."

"Well, you did get a file on me," she says, raising a brow and twisting those delectable lips into a smirk.

"No, I mean the stuff no one else gets to know." I lean in and take her hand and play with her fingers. "What's you favorite movie, and flower and color... Everything."

"I actually like books they make into movies, so I can watch them and make a list of reasons in my mind why the book was better."

"How does that make it your favorite?"

"Because, it makes me remember everything I loved about the book again."

"That is the oddest favorite movie answer I've ever heard." We both laugh.

"Well, I could tell you I love _Pretty Woman,_ like I answer every time I'm asked, but you wanted to know the truth that no one else does."

I smile and bring her hand to my lips. "Yes, I do."

"And my favorite flower actually is a rose, and not because it's my middle name. I like that they're sweet and beautiful, but they still have thorns."

"To fend off indecent pickers?"

"No, because a beautiful thing is more interesting with thorns." She brushes my face.

God, I'm enthralled with her.

"And grapefruit," she says.

"Wait," I say. "I thought strawberries were your favorite fruit." She sure dreams about them a lot.

"They are. That's my favorite color."

"Your favorite color is grapefruit?" I'm bemused.

She nods. "But, it's more of the combination of colors of the skin and flesh. Apart they're nothing, but together they play off of each other so well. I like that it's mostly this soft pink, but it has this bright beautiful yellow surrounding it. Almost like sunshine filled with love." She lights up, then suddenly frowns. "Is that weird?"

"No, it's so sweet." I brush her fingertips. "There's no one like you, Ana." She's sunshine filled with love, herself.

"Back at you, Grey."

"What if I made you a rose the color of grapefruit?"

"I'd say you'd have to be a magician," she says, raising a brow.

"It's one of my best qualities." I wink.

She smiles and dips her head shyly. I know how she feels. In a strange way it's easier to tell someone all about the big terrible things in your life, but those small details, those odd intricacies that make you who you are, feel the most frighteningly vulnerable.

"Plus, soft pink reminds me of my blanket Ray gave me to sleep with during rainstorms," she says as she looks out the window onto the clear day. "It's a pink that makes everything okay."

"He was a good father?" I ask.

"The best." It always amazes me to hear about someone like Ray. He had no paternal obligation to Ana, yet he stayed.

"Why did your mother leave him?"

"To quote _Pretty Woman_, 'she wanted the fairytale'."

"And she thought it was this Texas guy?" I have to find this fucker's name and look him up.

Ana nods. There's still something she's not telling me. No one else could see it, but I do. There's an unspoken sadness in her voice and in her eyes. And I recognize it, since I feel the same. And I know I can't hear any of it now, because if she told me he hurt even one hair on her head, I'd be on an immediate mission to kill him. And with all that's going on, I can't send Taylor to Texas right now on a hit. He was stressed out looking for beige sheets at the Pottery Barn.

"Isn't _Pretty Woman_ the movie where the rich, powerful titan rescues a girl with elaborate gifts and a torrid love affair?" I ask, changing the subject and lightening the mood.

"Yes, but you're forgetting the ending. It's also the movie she rescues him right back."

She's right. She does.

#######

"I thought we'd go sailing this afternoon," I say to her as we make our way through the marina following the most lovely lunch I've ever had. I'm surprised they let us out of that place. I think Dante would be happy if we set up house.

"Sailing?" she squeals.

"Are you excited, Miss Steele?" I smile.

"Yes! I've never been sailing before," she says as she hugs to my arm.

"Another first," I say, grinning.

"This is my boat." I point to my yacht at the end of the pier. Ana's eyes open wide and her mouth gapes at the sight of her. She is quite impressive. And the boat is, too.

"Wow," she says. "That's incredible!" And though she's talking about my boat, it feels like she's talking about my dick.

"Built by my company," I say as we step closer. "She's been designed from the ground up by the very best naval architects in the world and constructed here in Seattle at my yard. She has hybrid electric drives, asymmetric dagger boards, a square-topped mainsail—"

"Okay...you've lost me, Christian." She laughs.

"She's a great boat," I say and I laugh, too.

"She looks mighty fine, Mr. Grey."

"That she does, Miss Steele."

"What's her name?"

I pull Ana to the side and point to the giant script announcing The Grace.

"You named her after your mom?" she asks, and she sounds surprised.

"Yes." I look at her. I'm not sure why this is such big news. "Why do you find that strange?"

"I don't. It's beautiful. I love that you did that. I just didn't expect it."

"I adore my mom, Anastasia. I owe her everything. I may not always demonstrate my affection, but..."

"I know." She squeezes my hand and gazes at me lovingly, but at the same time it's almost as if she's trying to fit pieces into the puzzle that I am. I wonder if I should warn her that all my pieces are misshapen and jagged and gave up on fitting together a long time ago. But, the way Ana's looking at me tells me she's up for the challenge.

"What did she say?" Ana asks.

"What did who say when?"

"Your mother, when you told her about this."

"She was thrilled. She sobbed. You know how mother's get.

"Because she loves you." Ana smiles so sweetly.

I inhale sharply. "She's a good woman. She would mother the devil himself." And a part of me always believes that she has.

Ana must sense where my thoughts are going, because she reaches up and brushes my face. "You're a good man," she says and I nod. But, I greatly fear the day she discovers for certain that this isn't true.

"Do you want to come aboard?" I ask and she beams up at me.

"Yes, please," she says and together we board a mighty ship in search of new waters.


	35. Chapter 35

**_Thank you for being so patient while I updated my other Fifty stories. And please check them out if you have the chance. Thank you for all of your support! Lots more to come with this one! I love hearing from you! xox_**

"Liam McConnell, meet Anastasia Steele, my girlfriend," I say, with extra emphasis on the title, as my first mate skips away from the wheel of The Grace to shake her hand. He shakes it with a little too much verve for my liking. His technique is slick—firm grip, slow pull, soft sway. He's obviously done this before. Seems my normally low key high seas companion is turning on the charm today. Typical. Seeing Anastasia has his little matey shouting ahoy.

"Hello, Mr. McConnell," Ana says, ever polite and jaw-dropping beautiful as the sun lights her hair and the reflection from the waves dances across her face. In this moment I become a true believer that the sea and the sun were created just for this purpose. "I'm so excited, though I've never really been out on the water like this before."

"Miss Steele, please call me Mac," he says, about two octaves deeper than normal, still shaking her hand with a smile so wide and stretched it's like the dentist clamped his lips back so he could dig for wisdom, but couldn't find any. Either that, or he visited Elena's doctor. "I'll make sure you take to this like a fish to water." He laughs, but there's pure sex in his chuckling.

"Don't worry, Mac," I say. "I'll teach Miss Steele all about being a fish. That's my job after all." I hold to her arm, pulling her away from the crab and his claw meat, and hold her hand in mine. I give him the once over. He's in his best outfit today—khaki shorts, his Elvis hula girl guitar shirt and the flip-flops that aren't taped at the toe with a bandaid. I know his game. He heard Ana was coming, probably saw her picture in the paper, so he decided to give her his full-on Blue Hawaii. Well, he's going to get full-on Blue Down Under instead. Why haven't I noticed how good looking he is before—all blond saltwater curls, teal green eyes and sun kissed muscles. He's like a cowabunga Thor.

"Please, call me Ana," she says.

"Miss Steele is fine," I say. I need to change the subject. The boat. Talk about the boat. "How's she shaping up?" I give him a glare that shoots straight to his rudders.

"She's ready to rock and roll," he says, but he doesn't look at me, or anywhere around the yacht; he won't take his eyes off Ana. Now I know why they call him Mac—he thinks he's God's gift to women and he's all cheese.

"Why don't you clean the shit out of the scuppers and monitor your gauges so they don't get out of line, while I show my girlfriend around my boat." Ana is oblivious, probably thinking what I just said makes perfect sense in seamen's speak, but he gets the hint and moves toward the deck, but not before giving her one more flash of gleaming teeth and a shake of his Elvises.

"Come Ana," I say, pulling her along. "I'd like to show you my vessel."

"You have a kitchen?" she asks, stopping to admire the pale blue French lava stone countertop. It is a wonder, I know. Why is there a gigantic ceramic bowl filled with red apples at the center of it? Wait a second, those aren't real apples—they're wooden! Oh hell, Taylor must've gotten creatively liberal at the Pottery Barn. I see he's also put wooden lemons on the coffee table in the living area.

"Yes, it's a good galley," I say. There are hand towels and oven mitts and a bread box all in the same fall orchard theme. Does he really think that she thinks that I bake bread on my boat? Or have a special box for it saluting the bounty of fall?

"A what?" she asks. She's looking at the apples. She thinks I'm weird. What man who can face the mirror in the morning decorates with wooden apples? Taylor, that's who. But, I'm not sure he actually looks in the mirror ever. He probably just catches his reflection on the side of the SUV and if his underwear aren't outside his pants, he goes with it.

"My grandfather had an orchard," I say quickly, as way of explanation, but she scrunches her nose. Oh wait, she was asking about the galley. "Oh. No. I mean, galley is kitchen in ship speak." You're an idiot, Grey. "It's nothing like home, but it does the job." Get her away from the apples! Apples bring nothing but bad news. Ask Eve and Snow White and my good frenemy Bill Gates. "Come, there's more to see."

"It's so warm in here," she says as we walk through the living area quickly to avoid her getting an eyeful of inanimate citrus.

"There's air conditioning," I say. "But, once we're off, I don't want you to freeze and catch your death of cold."

"No," she giggles. "I mean it's lovely here. Homey." Is she serious? Maybe the apples were a good thing. Leave it to Taylor to know about how to appeal to women with wooden fruit.

"Does your family come here much?" she asks as I continue to guide her on the tour.

"It sleeps six, but I've rarely had the family overnight. I hosted a helluva Fourth of July party out here last year with them, though. Fireworks and everything."

"Will you this year?" Oh yes, Ana loves fireworks.

"If you want." I lean in to whisper, "I'd set off explosions of color the entire night if you asked me to, Ana...but, I'd rather do it alone with you on every surface of this yacht, instead."

She smiles, but then looks down, serious all of a sudden and I stop the tour momentarily from going forward.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Did you take any of your subs out here?"

"No, Anastasia." I take hold of her chin, tilting it up so her eyes meet mine. "Never. You know this."

"What about Mrs. Robinson?" she cringes and tries to look away, but I hold her to me.

"No," I say. "I preferred to sail alone before..." I look out a porthole onto the water. The clear blue ahead, ready for Ana and me to set sail.

"Before what?" she asks.

"You." I brush her cheek as my hand cradles her head and I feel her smile against the pad of my thumb.

Continuing my tour, I show her a bathroom with potpourri that smells like the sea, if the sea got lost in the Neiman's perfume aisle after a long jog. But, that's not why I shut the door quickly—Taylor's put knitted cozies over the hand soap and lotion dispensers. Humiliating!

Fuck the tour. There's only one room I want to show her anyway...

"This is the master cabin," I say as I turn the knob and open the door. Immediately, I regret my decision.

"This is your bedroom?" she asks, surprise evident in her tone as she takes it all in. And Lord, it's a lot to take in.

"Uh..." is all I can stammer out, trying to bide my time before I have to answer. Perhaps I could kill myself first. No, but then I'd have to die in this shit.

Taylor has taken beige masculine feminine to a whole new level. Everything is the color of sand in here and is framed with obnoxious ruffles—bedspread, sheets, curtains, pillows, even the rug on the floor that covers the wood of the same color looks like it fell out of the lover's lair of a sand crab Romeo. I peek into the en suite bathroom and the towels are all that color, too. I don't even want to talk about the cozies. Hell, if we washed up on a beach, I couldn't tell you if I was in the boat or out of it.

"Did you decorate?" she asks, looking up at me as I hold firmly to her hand—primarily so she won't bolt and jump ship after what she's seen. The only thing that isn't beige or ruffled is the gigantic vase of red roses on the dresser next to a sculpture of kissing sea horses. Honestly, Taylor!

"No!" I say fast, and she looks confused. "I mean, I had someone do it... Why?" She hates it. She hates me. She hates my sea horses.

"It's very shabby chic," she says.

"Is that like homeless?" I ask.

She laughs. "No, it's a style. I love it."

"You do?" I turn to her, my mouth fallen to the rug and lost in the ruffles.

"Yes, I love the color scheme," she says. "Everything blends so well, yet it's all so unique, different." Is she serious? How is anything different? "It's masculine, yet soft and somewhat feminine... neutrals are often underestimated."

"Yes, that's what I think," I say fast, swooning over the fact that she likes it—she really likes it. "Beige is a favorite color of mine."

"I thought you said you didn't decorate it?"

"No, I did. I said exactly what I wanted. But, someone else...you know... made everything happen." She's looking at me for more explanation. "I mean, I didn't sew the sheets or anything." What the fuck word diarrhea is coming out of your mouth, Grey?

"Well, if you can't sew your own sheets, I don't know if I can be with you," she says.

Is she serious? For a moment I contemplate Gail giving me sewing lessons on her machine, or my grandmother, but then she laughs and I'm let off the hook and line—or rather needle and thread.

"Well, I stick to driving the ship, I let others decorate it," I say, grinning like a loon. She sure decorates my life.

"It's different from Escala," she says.

"You don't like Escala?"

"Of course I do; it's beautiful..."

"But..." Oh shit. Should I text Taylor to get more beige sheets?

"It could use a woman's touch." She smiles up at me and winks. Is she giving me a hint? Is this my opportunity? Would she possibly think of moving in with me before we move into the house I bought her to live with me forever in?

"Well, I'm open to suggestions..." I say. Like you doing whatever you want to my place. Shabby chic the fuck out of everything. I don't give a damn. I just want you, Ana.

"I'll think about it," she says. Why can't I just call the judge and have him marry us right here, right now? I'd love Mac to have to bear witness to that.

She looks around, stroking the wood of the bed, then touches a framed photo of my family that's propped on the dresser. I never put that up there. I had that photo in a drawer with a bunch of others. Taylor must've found it and framed it. But, why that one?

"Where was this taken?," she asks, picking it up and examining it.

"Mia's 18th birthday," I say. "My mom made us all pose." Oh lord, I'm wearing a pink polo and gray socks. What was I thinking?

"You look so young in this!" she says. "And so happy." She's quiet for a moment as she looks at it. I notice her fingertip stroke my face on the picture and she smiles to herself. It's not an exaggerated move; it's subtle, sweet. If I wasn't watching diligently, I'd have never seen it happen at all. Perhaps it meant nothing, but somehow that place inside of me that dares to love her wants to believe it did. And that simple action of her touching my face makes me feel cherished.

"It was a nice day," I say, clearing my throat of emotion. "I hired a DJ and my mom made dinner. Mia had everyone wear pink." Good move, Grey! Explain away the pink polo. "We had a good time." Or, rather I made it so they had a good time. I was, as I have always been before Ana, alone and watching all the fun from a comfortable distance away. Though, in this photo I almost look normal and content and like I belong with all of them. Almost. And it hits me—this is why Taylor chose this shot.

"They love you," I say, stroking her cheek.

"They love you, too," she says, setting the picture down and looking up at me with those blue eyes. I clear my throat again and turn away. I don't want to get into all that right now.

"And I love you," she says, and before I can say anything in return, she takes hold of my face and kisses me.

"You know, we might have to christen this bed," I whisper against her mouth. She breathes and wordlessly nods her agreement, lips still brushing mine. "But, not now. We have to set sail." I pull away and take hold of her hand. "Are you ready for our next adventure, Miss Steele?"

"Always," she says, and even after all that's happened in the past few days, she didn't hesitate for a second to give me the gift of that word.

"Does Mac always sail with you?" she asks as we arrive on deck and find him flexing his muscles all over the place. Oh please.

"I like to sail alone, but today I need to keep my eye on you." I lean over and nip her earlobe and she squeals. Although, I think I need to keep an eye on him. He's using his dick as his compass and he's obviously eaten his spinach today.

"You think I'll get into trouble?" she asks, mischief evident in her tone.

"Oh I do hope so, Miss Steele." I wink. She's biting that lip again. I place my thumb on her mouth and tug it from her teeth. "Keep doing that and you'll be on your back in my bed." She smirks, then does it again. Naughty minx.

"Here, put this on." I hold up a life preserver vest, then slide it over her head, and once it's in place I begin to tighten it.

"You like strapping me into things," she says, her chestnut locks spilling over the pillowy orange of the preserver. God, she's hot.

"In any form." I tug it snug and she gasps. That's right, baby; I can still have my way with you.

"You are a pervert," she says, but she's smiling, so I'm not alarmed at this declaration.

"You're right, I am." I run my fingertips from the vest, down to her denim covered thighs.

"My pervert." Her eyes gaze into mine and there's a flush across her cheeks. This did turn her on.

"Yes, yours." I lean over to kiss her mouth. "Always," I breathe, giving her that word in return.

"Is this where you learned all your rope tricks?" Ana asks, smiling, as I work with Mac to get us ready to set sail. He looks up and grins. Fucker. I don't want her thinking about Mac tying ropes. And I certainly don't want him thinking about tying them for her.

"Clove hitches have come in handy," I say, appraising her comment. "Miss Steele, you sound curious. I like you curious. I'd be more than happy to demonstrate what I can do with a rope." I smirk, but when she looks at me like I've upset her, my heart skips a beat and I nearly drop everything and die.

"Gotcha." She grins.

Oh, game on, Miss Steele.

"I may have to deal with you later, but right now, I've got to drive my boat." I like how manly that just sounded. I sit at the controls and the engines sound at my command.

Mac passes Ana, all grins, as he does his work and I contemplate hitting the gas fast so he'll go overboard, but knowing him he'd wrestle a shark and become a hero. I better check in with Otis, the eighty-five year old navy vet who was paralyzed from the waist down in war, to see if he can take Mac's place on my next outing with Ana. But, I'm not entirely sure he can still see.

I radio the coast guard and we're good to go. She's watching me and smiling, so I put on my best in control, sea captain bravado to impress her. Is she impressed? I don't want to look too in control. That will freak her out with all these ropes lying about. More like competent, strong, but still soft. That's it—I have to be the color beige.

"Don't you have to wear a hat?" she asks. She looks likes she's happy with me. That's the only thing in the world I care about. Or maybe she's thinking about my lava stone countertop and all my bedroom ruffles.

"A hat?" I ask.

"I thought captains always wear a hat," she says.

"This isn't The Love Boat," I say.

"It's not?" she asks, pouting all cute like she does. "I was hoping it was."

"Behave, Miss Steele." I shake my head, grinning. Damn the things she does to me. I have to fiddle with the knobs so I won't fiddle with my own.

The crowd has gathered at the dock to watch us depart—typical. Hell, why are they so interested? It's a boat taking off; it happens everyday. I'm annoyed, as I usually am, and I look over to apologize to Ana for this embarrassment, but I see she's smiling and actually waving back at them. There are some children at the front. One small boy in particular jumps up and down like he's seen a princess—which, of course, he has. He desperately wants her to notice him, and my sweet Ana turns to him and waves. And it's not a wave given to everyone, it's special. She's looking him in the eyes and smiling. And that little boy's face lights up simply because she really sees him.

"What are you doing?" she asks as I reach over and tug her to me at the wheel of the ship, where we stand together looking out over the marina.

"They want a show, we'll give them one," I grin, demonstratively bringing her in for a kiss. The crowd cheers and whistles. We break, breathless, and grinning at each other like fools. And because she's infectious and kind and lovely, and that little boy is still jumping and waving, I do what I've never done for the gathering crowd before—I give a little wave back.

"Grab the wheel," I say to her, as she sits between my legs in the captain's chair.

"What?" she asks.

"You heard me," I say, with my cheek pressed to hers. "Drive."

"But I don't know how..."

"We'll do it together." I smile and I can feel her smile, too.

Aye aye, captain," she says and salutes me.

"Wait!" I see my Mariners cap in an open drawer next to me, so I grab it and put it on her head.

"What's this?" she asks, touching the bill.

"Your captain's hat." I smile and straighten it for her, and she giggles. Giggles at sea, what a heady combination.

She puts her hands on the wheel and I place my fingers over hers and steer us. Every ripple in the clear blue taking us farther and farther away from the people. Soon we're so far out, we can't see evidence of land anymore. This has always been my favorite place—lost at sea.

"Sail time," I say and she looks back not knowing what I'm talking about. "Here—you take her and keep her on course."

"What?" She looks at me like I've lost my fucking mind.

"Baby, it's really easy. Hold the wheel and keep your eye on the horizon over the bow. You'll do great; you always do. When the sails go up, you'll feel the drag. Just hold her steady. I'll signal like this"—I make a slashing motion across my throat—"and you can cut the engines. This button here." I point to it. "Understand?"

"Yes." She nods, though I know she's wary.

I lift her and get up, then take hold of her chin after she takes my seat. "I trust you completely, baby." And it's a wonder how true those words are becoming.

"I want you to get lost," I whisper to Mac as we work with the sails.

"What?" he asks. I'm not sure if he's playing dumb, or that's his normal look. I've never really cared to look at his face before.

"When we reach the island. Get off. Busy yourself for a good hour. And by good I mean sixty-one minutes, not fifty-nine."

"There's nothing on that island but berry farms and wildlife, Mr. Grey."

"Then go hunt and gather," my annoyance evident in my tone. I shake my head. Why did I ever hire this moron?

Anastasia squeals and we both turn to look. Fucker. Nobody watches Ana's squealing but me. I give him a glare and he wisely whips his curls back around and works on the headsail.

"Hold her steady, baby, and cut the engines!" I say, making that slicing motion across my neck, though I'm not looking at Ana when I do it—I'm looking at Mac.

"What do you think?" I ask Ana, shouting over the sounds of a magical day at sea.

"Christian! This is fantastic." She laughs as the wind whips her hair. She's having fun! She's carefree and smiling and she's so damn beautiful. And it moves me greatly, in a way I never expected, to know that I gave her this experience. I quickly move to her, pull her up from the chair and she's sitting between my legs again as our fingers intertwine over the wheel.

"You wait until the spinney's up." I nod toward Mac, who is unfurling the spinnaker.

"Interesting color," she says, turning in my lap and looking back to me. I'm not sure what she means at first, but then I see that it's a deep red—like my playroom.

Naughty girl.

I grin and wink and purposely run a finger across my bottom lip as my eyes heat gazing into hers. Oh Ana, what am I going to do with you? I know—everything.

"Asymmetrical sail. For speed." I say, answering the question in her eyes as she looks at the spinney.

"It's amazing!" she says with awe and reverence and sheer dazzlement as we go faster, and I imagine she's talking about my dick.

"How fast are we going?" she asks.

"She's doing fifteen knots," I say.

"I have no idea what that means."

"It's about seventeen miles an hour."

"Is that all?" she asks. And I no longer imagine she's talking about my dick.

"You look lovely, Anastasia," I say, holding tight to her hands as I kiss the side of her face. "It's good to see some color in your cheeks...and not from blushing. You look like you do in José's photos." Those photos. If only I could always make her as happy and carefree and Ana as she is in those black and whites...and the way she is right now, today.

She startles me when she turns and kisses me—really kisses me. It's a kiss full of passion and sweetness, vulnerability and strength. It's a kiss that could only ignite from her lips on mine. And fuck me, I'm delighted Mac is seeing this.

"You know how to show a girl a good time, Mr. Grey," she says, pulling back, smiling, and she doesn't look like she's teasing. I made her smile like this. My chest involuntarily puffs proud with that knowledge.

"We aim to please, Miss Steele." I brush her hair off her neck and kiss the top of her spine. "I like seeing you happy," I murmur against her skin and tighten my arms around her. I never want to let her go.

#######

"Sixty-one," I yell out to Mac, reminding him of the minutes he needs to scram as he leaves my boat and heads out into the wild unknown. Honestly, he's such a baby. There's a general store and a strawberry farm out there. I think toilets.

"What does that mean?" Ana asks.

"Seamen's speak." My semen are definitely speaking to me now. More like screaming, begging for escape. I grab Ana's hand and lead her straight to bedroom.

"I want to see you naked," I say, undoing her life vest at warp speed and tossing it to the side. I keep my eyes fixed on hers, because they're beautiful and also because I don't want to lose my erection by looking at all the ruffles.

"Well, you just cut to the chase—" I don't let her finish as I take her mouth with mine.

She tastes so good, her lips swollen from me tugging them between my teeth. I run my fingers lightly down her throat, her chest, and gently brush her hardening nipples that are now quite visible popping out of her shirt. I brush my nose along her chin, smelling the scent that is only Ana, then step back again to look at her.

"Strip for me," I say, clenching my jaw, so I don't immediately lift her shirt and devour her nipples. I don't want to rush this.

Ana backs away from me and I'm not sure what she's going to do, exactly. Sometimes she's so shy...

But, not today.

She throws off her hat and her sweater and without breaking eye contact, she starts to unbutton her shirt. One by one the buttons open at the work of her fingers. One by one the inches of my cock grow. Once finished, she slides the shirt off her shoulders and tosses it to the floor, leaving nothing but the lace of her bra covering her perfect breasts. I can see those pink puckering peaks pushing out. Damn.

"Wait," I say, noticing her sneakers still on her feet. If they were Louboutins I'd say leave them on, but not Converse. "Sit." I point to the edge of the bed and she shockingly does as she's told.

I lift her feet and untie each of her sneakers, tossing them aside, then peel each sock off. Her bare toes wiggle playfully in front of me. They're adorable, but she needs to stay still. I nip at her big toe and she groans. The sound of her guttural need goes straight to my groin.

I need her naked.

I take her hands and lift her quickly from the bed, leaving her breathless and teetering for balance on her newly bare feet.

"Continue," I say and stand back to appreciate the show.

She unzips her jeans slowly. So slowly, I find my mouth open and salivating when I finally see the lace of her panties peeking out. Oh Ana, if you wanted me by the balls, you've got your wish.

I inhale sharply as she slides her jeans off her hips. The wetness on her panties glistens against the lace and my cock twitches in response. Oh how I want to nuzzle that spot and taste her, but I resist. She finally rids herself of the jeans, tossing them on top of her shirt on the floor. I have to catch my breath at the sight of her standing before me in that lingerie. Caroline Acton should be canonized.

I don't have to remind her to continue. With a confidence I've not seen before, she slides the straps of her bra off her shoulders. Her eyes not leaving mine, she reaches around back to unhook it, then holds it up for me to see before dramatically dropping it to the floor.

My fingers itch to touch her, but I let her continue. I want to see how she gets out of those panties. I swallow hard.

She moves closer to me, gazing into my eyes with smoldering heat. Her legs are long and glorious as they walk to me. I imagine them wrapped around my neck as she leans forward, her breath warm against my skin and her nipples brushing against me.

Fuck.

I reach out to her, but she backs away before I make contact, turning so her ass is facing me. She then hooks her thumbs in her panties and shimmies them lower so I can see the top of her ass crack. All I can think of is running my cock up and down the length of it.

I'm about to lunge for her, when she turns back around to face me, and deliberately, devilishly, deliciously slides her panties down slowly, bending over with straight legs and ass high in the air, until they drop to her ankles and she kicks them away.

Holy fuck.

Involuntarily almost, I rip my sweater and shirt off, and toss them to the floor. Socks and shoes are next. She's watching me and it shocks me that I like it—no, I love it. I start to unbutton my jeans, but she moves to me, lays a hand on my wrist and shakes her head for me to stop.

"Let me," she says and she licks her lips.

"Be my guest," I say, swallowing again, and before I know it she grabs the waistband of my jeans and tugs me to her.

"Ana," I breathe, but she doesn't stop. Her greedy fingers move into my jeans, under the elastic band of my boxers and find my erection. She starts to stroke it, up and down. I'm dying. Has it ever been this good? But, I don't bother to answer myself. I already know–never in a fucking million years has it been like this.

"You're getting so bold, Ana; so brave," I say, groaning from her touch.

"So are you," she says, reaching lower and massaging my balls.

"Getting there." I have to close my eyes as I groan.

Just before I know I can't take it anymore without shooting off into my pants, she stops and undoes the button to my fly, sliding the zipper down.

"I want you so bad, baby," I say, sweaty and breathless, as I back away and slide my jeans and boxers off my body.

We stand there, both naked facing each other. We're each panting with want, but all we're staring at is each other's eyes.

She gets serious all of a sudden and I fear she's read something dark and ugly behind mine. It's not a look of sadness, but it's a look that is accompanied by tears.

"What's wrong, Ana?" I ask, at a loss and terrified of what she's seen that could make her go.

"Nothing," she says, wiping away a tear and then smiling at me. "You're just so beautiful," she says and I inhale sharply. Me? Beautiful? But, she doesn't give me time to ponder that; she kisses me instead. And maybe she's doing this on purpose and saving me from my thoughts. "Love me, Christian," she murmurs against my mouth. Oh Ana, there's no other way for me.

I pull her into my arms, kissing her with everything I have as I move us to the bed. Before, I looked at sex much as I looked at setting sail. It was a journey away from something; an escape. But now, because of her, both feel like coming home.

"Do you have any idea how exquisite your scent is, Ana? It's irresistible." I kiss her neck and inhale. "You are so beautiful." I move my mouth down her her neck, kissing and nipping her until I find her sweet breasts. I take one of her nipples into my mouth, suckling it and she purrs her contentment as her hips lift from the bed with want.

"Let me hear you, baby," I whisper, blowing on and pinching her nipple before sliding my mouth across to the other one to do the same.

"Oh god," she cries out as my teeth tug and pull her peak, and I'm nearly undone by it.

I need to fuck her. Now.

I rise to my knees to grab a wretched condom from the side drawer. Seven more days, I remind myself. Thank fuck Taylor remembered to leave them like I told him to and didn't let the ruffles crowd his brain. As I'm doing this, Ana has taken hold of my length and within seconds I'm inside her mouth.

Oh fuck. Warm and wet. It feels so good. But, I won't last long and I need desperately to be inside of her.

"Here," I say, handing her the condom. Her lips and tongue slide off of me, a string of her saliva stretching between us. It's so hot. She rips open the foil and with expert fingers, pinches the tip and slides it over me.

"I want you on top," I say, running my finger along her slit, feeling her dripping for me. I can't resist; I take my fingers and slide them into my mouth to taste her and she blushes. This still embarrasses her. Oh Ana, but you taste so good.

I take her hands and she hooks her legs astride me, positioning herself over me. I groan loudly as she lowers herself onto me. She feels like the sweetness of pure heaven and the fire of delicious sin all at once. She is everything.

"Does this feel good?" she asks as she moves up and down on me.

"Oh baby," I say, grabbing her hips lifting and lowering her on my length . "It's so good. It has never been so good." Her cries of passion when I circle her clit with my thumb tell me she feels the same. "Oh Ana, what you make me feel..." I groan and then sit up so we're face-to-face.

"I love you," she says, and I close my eyes. She loves me. The feeling still too powerful for me to process and the words still feel too vile returned from my lips. All I can do is show her. This is the language that she and I speak and the way I'm moving inside of her right now is shouting my love for her from the rooftops.

She touches me as we go, but sticks to the boundaries of the red lipstick map washed away earlier with the declaration of my love. I like when her hands slide up and down my arms, or her fingers run through my hair and pull. I like the feel of her warm skin pressed to mine. And I illicitly wonder again, as I have every time we've made love, if her touch would feel good everywhere. I surprise myself thinking that it might.

In a swift move, I flip her onto her back and make love to her—really make love to her. I kiss her mouth, behind her ear, and the place on her neck I can feel her pulse. She doesn't realize it, but I always linger there because it feels like I'm kissing the very place that leads to her heart.

"Ah," she cries out and I can feel her tightening and quivering beneath me. She's close. To give this woman that I love such pleasure—well, there's no feeling like it.

"Give it to me, Ana," I say as I thrust into her again and again at measured speed.

"Christian," she cries out and that's all I need to hear. My name on her orgasmic breath is always my undoing. In that moment we come violently and beautifully together.

#######

"Mac will be back soon," I say as she lies across my chest and I stroke her hair. I like this; both of us sated and naked, holding to each other as we're rocked by the sway of the boat.

"Do we have to go back?" she asks and I smile as I kiss the top of her head.

"Well, I have to feed you and I didn't plan for dinner out here," I whisper against her hair.

"Well, I know something you could feed me."

"Miss Steele, didn't I tell you to behave?" We both laugh.

"Can we come back?" she asks, her blue eyes looking up at me.

"Anytime you want." I smile and she returns it. I'm delighted—she wants to do this again and she wants to do it with me.

"This was perfect," she says as she brushes my face.

"I'm glad." I take hold of her fingers and kiss them. "And as much as I'd like to lie here with you all night, Mac will need help with the dinghy." Of course, he's probably been helping his own little dinghy for the last sixty-one minutes thinking of Ana somewhere out there in the berries. Fucker. I know it's highly irregular, but I wonder if Taylor knows someone who does castrations on the sly. Maybe I can get a group rate for all of Ana's wannabe suitors.

"Ana you look beautiful right now," I say. The just fucked flush across her cheeks and the mess of her hair is stunning. "All mussed up and sexy. Makes me want you even more." I kiss her and then get out of bed to find my clothes.

"You aren't so bad yourself," she says, looking mischievously up and down my body, and I grin and flex my ass muscles for her enjoyment.

"I have a job to do, Miss Steele," I say as I dress. Her eyes never leaving my frame. It's fucking hot. "I have to drive you back to land and feed you so I can fuck you again."

"If you're going to drive us back, you'll need this..." She reaches over to the floor—giving me a great view of her ass as she bends over and the sheet falls away—and grabs the Mariners cap. She tosses it to me and I catch.

"What's this for?"

"Captain's hat, remember?"

"Captain, huh?" I put it on. "Well, I am the master of this vessel."

"You are the master of my heart." She looks at me so sweetly and sincere.

I close my eyes for a moment and shake my head. The things she makes me feel.

"I'll be on deck," I say, bending to kiss her quickly. You can shower and relax. Do you need anything? A magazine to thumb through? A drink?" I almost offered her an apple, but then I remembered their wooden-ness.

She shakes her head, smiling.

"What?" I ask.

"Who are you and what have you done with Christian Grey?"

My heart falls. She's right. This man I am with her right now isn't really me. Soon, she'll see the monster and then she'll go and I'll be alone again.

"He's not far away," I say, looking out a porthole behind her and out onto the vast unknown. "You'll see him soon enough." I shake my head, smirking as I work to gather myself. "Especially if you don't get out if this bed." I lean over and give her a playful smack on her behind. She squeals and laughs. Lord, that felt good.

"You had me worried," she says.

"Did I, now?" I raise a brow. "Why would you ever want to see that sad, cold, domineering son-of-bitch again?"

She looks at me for a moment, holding me with her gaze, then she softly smiles.

"Because I love him, too," she says.

I stand there, motionless. My heart pounding and that feeling in my chest so unfamiliar just weeks ago, swirls inside of me so familiar now—but terrifying just the same. And I'm always floored that when she fixes her eyes on me, really seeing who I am, she doesn't look away.

"You do give off some mixed signals, Anastasia," I say, my throat ceasing up with emotion that desperately wants to leave me, but I still hold onto. "How's a man supposed to keep up?" I grin and so does she. "Laters baby." I kiss her quickly and she smiles as I straighten my hat just before I walk through the door.

The wind slaps me in the face as soon as I walk out onto the deck. I find myself alone for the first time today. Usually, this is the moment I would find peace and strength in my solitude, but I'm struck with the realization that being alone like this isn't peaceful or strong, it's just alone.

The sky above the water has grayed and the waves are getting rough. The light summer afternoon is gone and night is about to fall, bringing a storm. And though this day has been the happiest, I'm reminded that much like God, the sea gives and the sea takes away.


	36. Chapter 36

_**Thanks for your patience. I had every writer's worst nightmare happen last week. After 2500 words, somehow they all got erased. So, I had to start from scratch on this. The second part of this chapter will post tomorrow. Will be updating the other story, too. Thank you for reading and your comments and votes! I appreciate it so much! xox**_

"Ruffles, Taylor?" I ask as I talk to him on my Blackberry, standing on deck with Mac while he readies the sails for departure. Anastasia is getting dressed down below, so every time Mac makes the bullshit excuse he has to hit up the little boy's room—or as he calls it in his native tongue, "the bog"—I direct him to some other task. I know his game; he wants to run into Ana down there. Well, he can piss off the side of the boat for all I care, because there's no way I'm allowing him anywhere near Ana in a possible state of undress. All it takes is a turn of the wrong knob, an 'oops, wrong door', and then her naked breasts are seared in his memory forever.

"Did you not like the accoutrements, sir?" Taylor asks. What's he talking about? Her breasts?! Oh wait, the ruffles and kissing seahorse shit.

"Do I seem like a ninety-seven-year-old piano teacher to you?"

He doesn't answer right away, which on some level is troubling.

"You said beige with a feminine touch, sir."

"A touch, Taylor. Not a two-handed chokehold with a kick in the balls." Looking at Mac right now, that sounds like a good idea. "Why wasn't that shit in the picture of the bedding you sent me?"

"I believe it was, Mr. Grey."

I look at my Blackberry to find the photo.

"Where? I don't see anything," I say, examining the shot that was taken at the oddest angle possible. What, was he lying down with his knees over his head and drinking from a flask while snapping it?

"Top left area, sir." He knows this from memory? Odd, but impressive.

I look closer.

"I didn't know that was a ruffle; I thought the sheet was just wadded up against the pillow."

"Mr. Grey," Mac says, rolling up his sleeves and flashing his bulging bis and tris, showcasing the effects of his hoisting abilities—for Ana, no doubt.

"What is it?" I ask.

"This one is done, so I'll just hit the bog—"

"Finish the next one first!" I say in my GEH don't-fuck-with-me-or-I'll-have-your-dick-on-a-platter-and-you'll-never-use-the-bog-again big meeting voice. He wisely does as he's told. Fucker. I'm going to have Welch look into his possible illegal steroid use. The only comfort in that is that it shrinks your nuts up.

"Mrs. Adelaide assured me they were masculine, and pleased the ladies," Taylor says.

"What did?" Mac's balls?!

"The beige frill, sir." Oh.

"Who the hell is Mrs. Adelaide?" Did he really buy them off a ninety-seven-year-old piano teacher?

"The sales manager at the downtown Pottery Barn, Mr. Grey. She was quite proficient with the palate and quality of cottons."

Why the hell is Taylor so influenced by sales ladies these days? Hell, that woman over at the Neiman's beauty counter sold him so many berry lipsticks, I'm surprised she didn't hook him into buying a pot of dirt with a beanstalk and the promise of a giant, too.

"Did she also advise you on the bowls of wooden fruit?" I found three more lying about. When I saw a canister of popcorn in the entertainment cabin I had to do an FBI level investigation before I ate a piece to make sure it wasn't really buttered bark. It tasted like it was, but it wasn't.

"Didn't Miss Steele like everything, Mr. Grey?"

Fuck. He's got me there.

"No, she surprisingly loved it," I mutter. I can almost hear him smiling on the other end. With Taylor that looks more like satisfaction after passing gas than glee, but it's definitely happening right now. "She said it was vagrant couture or something."

"Shabby chic, sir?"

"That's the one."

"Oh good, that's what we were going for!"

I momentarily wonder if I should alert Gail to the fact her boyfriend is so excited about picking out bedding with another woman, but then again he nearly pisses himself happy by picking out spark plugs with any greaser he meets at the auto parts store. Such eclectic tastes, that one.

"Just alert me next time you want to make those sort of purchases on my behalf."

"Of course, Mr. Grey."

"Any news on Leila?" I assume he would've told me if something earth shattering happened before we got into our frilly poor décor discussion, but I question anyway. All this waiting is making me uneasy. Where the fuck is Welch with the updates, anyway? He's probably still licking my white truffle pasta off his sleeves.

"Nothing breaking. But, upon further examination she was seen on surveillance footage using the fire escape," Taylor says.

"Really? Thirty stories up?" I ask and he confirms. "Like you thought, Taylor." Leila was always quite the acrobat, but this is beyond. If she'll scale a thirty story building, what the hell else will she do? I shudder to think.

"The apartment has been swept so you and Miss Steele can return when you want."

"Are you sure it's safe?"

"There is no trace of her, sir."

"There wasn't last time either, but she somehow popped out of the cereal boxes and stood over Ana while she slept!" I close my eyes, the pain too great just thinking about that moment again. I should have been there to protect her. I failed her.

"I assure you, every precaution has been taken, sir."

"Well, that better be true." I clench my fists and grind my jaw. "Miss Steele's safety is our top priority. If anything happens to her—"

"On my life, Mr. Grey," he says with sincerity and quiet resolve, and I know that he means it.

"Good." I look around to make sure Mac isn't listening in. He's still working with the spinney and concentrating on holding his piss in and his pecks out. "Did you get everything from the hotel?" I whisper.

"Yes, sir. I put the bathrobes and edible massage butters in your bedroom, along with all of Miss Steele's things." The fact that he was fingering edible butters while unpacking Ana's panties doesn't make me happy, but the fact that she's all moved in with me there overrides it. Now, let's see if she goes along with it all.

"Excellent. We'll head back now, have a bite to eat, and then return to the apartment tonight."

"Very well, sir."

"And Taylor..."

"Yes, Mr. Grey?"

"Maybe you could casually put a few bowls of those apples around Escala," I whisper.

"Of course, Mr. Grey." He's definitely smiling now. Then again, so am I.

I hang up to find three missed calls from Elena and a text message that reads: _Don't pout. Call me. Let me take you to lunch tomorrow and we'll figure things out together. _

Why is this woman constantly bothering me? And what the hell is there to figure out? Don't fuck with Ana. Period. No discussion. She's a mother hen, I know this, and the text is nothing unexpected coming from her. But, there's an uneasy feeling in the pit of my gut about that last word—_together_.

"So, are you going to let me drive back?" Ana asks, startling me from behind. I put my phone in my pocket and turn to her. Sunshine. That's what she is.

"Under my tutelage," I say, beaming from her rays.

"I like being under your tutelage." She grins and raises a seductive little brow.

"Do you now, Miss Steele?" I rest my hands on her hips. "I certainly enjoyed being over you this afternoon." Sliding my fingers to the small of her back, I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer. "And under you, and beside you, and behind you..." I reach down and stroke her ass. "Definitely behind you." Lord, how I want to claim this.

"Would you stop," she blushes and nods toward Mac, who suddenly has no interest in the sails or pissing since Ana's tight-jeaned ass arrived up on deck. I palm each cheek, so he can't eye the rear view clearly and his last memory of it will be covered by my paws.

"Don't you have a bog to hit?" I say to him and he jumps down from his perch and dramatically heads down below, flexing his muscles all the way. I was right, he is a cowabunga Thor.

"It's lovely out," Ana says as she crosses to the side of the boat and leans over, smelling the sea air as the wind whips through her locks. She is a siren.

"There's a storm brewing," I say, wrapping my arms around her from behind, partly because I fear she may fall overboard, but mostly because I just want to hold her there. Did I really just say 'brewing'?

"Yes, but we can enjoy right now."

"And I am, Miss Steele." I brush the hair from her neck and kiss her there.

"What do you love about the sea?" she asks, and I nuzzle my cheek against hers as we look out onto the great unknown waters together that somehow, in this moment, are known only by the two of us. There's that word again—_together_. I again feel it in my gut, but this time it's butterflies.

"It's always been somewhere I could escape to. I could have quiet out here."

"You liked to be alone."

"Needed to be alone is more like it. It's the only way I could wrap my head around things. Find some sense of peace."

"But, you're not alone today," she says, turning her face up to me.

"No, I'm not." I smile and then kiss her hair, finding more peace and quiet and calm in this moment than I ever did alone.

As we look out onto the water I take pause, realizing that the ocean will never be the same for me again. My connection to it was perhaps my strongest and deepest relationship. There was a trust and an honesty and a long held bond that I had with nothing and no one else—until I had Ana.

I will no longer come here for days in silence, of that I'm sure. I will no longer find solace in the hours spent in solitary without the threat of human touch. There will be no quiet brought to my mind, because if Ana's not with me, my thoughts will always be with Ana. Maybe that's the truest meaning of together—Though apart, unbroken.

No, I will never have what I had with the sea again, so I close my eyes and bid her a silent farewell. And as her choppy waters splash against the side of the boat, her mist spraying us and causing Ana to giggle, I am sure of one thing—she's glad to see me go.

#######

"Sheepshank," I say as I demonstrate tying the knot for her up on deck. "It is a favorite of mine." I wink. Ana's a quick study. She tied a clove hitch a few minutes ago like it was her bitch. Well, I finally found one thing she and Elena have in common.

"Is it Mr. Grey?" She raises a brow as she takes the rope from me, and begins to replicate the tie with relative ease. It's such a fucking turn-on to see her long fingers move so fast.

"You sure you weren't a Girl Scout?" I ask, and she shakes her head and laughs.

"Are you sure you want to teach me all these knots?" She finishes tying the shank the fuck out of the sheep and hands it back to me. Damn, she's so good with rope tricks she could enter a rodeo. And then, of course, my thoughts drift to her tits bouncing up and down as she rides a bucking bull completely naked, her thighs wrapped tightly around it—all for my eyes only! Even in my fantasies of Ana I get jealous. "I may tie you up one day." She smirks.

"Oh, you'd have to catch me first." I give her a wicked grin, and while I'm still fantasizing about Rodeo Ana, when her face falls, immediately so does mine. Bad joke, Grey! Now, she's thinking of the night you chased her, and punished her—and she left.

"Come, Ana," I say in an effort to change the subject, and then take her hand quickly, leading her toward the bow.

"Aren't we going in the wrong direction for that?" She motions to where the bedroom is and smirks.

"Behave, Miss Steele," I tease. She sticks her lip out and gives me a pouty face in return. A face that if made to the old me would be punishable, but that the new me finds utterly adorable and will probably reward. "You are insatiable, you know that."

"For you," she says and she stops me in my tracks, my heart dropping into my belly, caught and cradled by the wings of those newly ever-present butterflies. Me. She wants me. She knows me better than anyone and she still says this. It blows my fucking mind.

_But, she doesn't know everything, Grey. _

Before I can dwell on that thought, I pull her close and hold her face with both my hands.

"Damn right, only me," I say and I bring my mouth to her just parted lips. The kiss is slow and tender at first, but soon I'm pouring everything I'm feeling right now into the connection of our skin and our lips and our tongues—into us. And though the fear I have of loving her and ever losing her is weighty, those butterflies still have me floating. And there is nothing in this moment but me and her and a thousand fluttering wings.

We're both breathless when I pull back and it takes a moment to return to planet earth, not that I'm sure I ever really have since first setting eyes on her, or that I ever really will. And I'd like nothing more than to float above existence with her forever. I brush her kiss swollen lips with my thumb and tuck her hair behind her ear, and then just stare at her. Not at all lost in this moment, but in awe of something truly found.

"What is it?" she asks, as I continue to gaze into her eyes. Their spell cast just five short and forever weeks ago only grows more potent. It's magic enough to make me believe that maybe I could have a future of more dreams than nightmares. "What are you looking at?"

"Everything," I say, and I smile. No truer word could ever be spoken, except maybe more. And she gave me that, too.

"Now, let's drive this ship home," I say, and lean in to kiss her forehead. "Together."

#######

"Aren't your hands supposed to be on mine?" she asks, gripping the wheel as she's seated back between my legs in the captain's chair.

"Oh, they are definitely on mine," I say, running my fingers up and down her hips and thighs. "All mine."

"Behave, Mr. Grey," she imitates me from before. Mockery—another punishable offense I'm finding completely irresistible. It's fun to tease each other. Who knew? Speaking of teasing, on my way to the wheel my fingers accidentally on purpose brush over her sex, which causes her to inhale sharply and twist against my groin, causing me to inhale sharply and have to adjust it. Damn. I can't even tease her without getting cock teased right back.

We're heading home now. This would historically be a low point in the evening—going back to reality— but home feels good with her. As long as I can keep her safe from Leila. We have to find her and get her help and then... and then,...and then, what?

Another terrible thought crosses my mind. When Leila is no longer a threat, Ana won't have to stay with me anymore. Ana will go back to her apartment and her life and her job and her own little bed. We'll spend nights together, sure, but not always. My bed won't be hers, it'll just be mine. I'm constantly tortured by the thought of Ana in someone else's bed, I just never knew how painful it would be when that bed was simply her own.

"I think the water is talking to us," she says as it sputters and sprays. Should I say it's telling her to move in with me, right now? No, that would sound bizarre and she might react badly, especially with everything that's going on. I can't risk that. I definitely can't tell her about the house, yet. But then again, we just made love in our honeymoon suite this morning! I mean, doesn't that legally count for anything? Hell, I'm so confused. I have to talk to Flynn about all this. And Legal about common-law marriage stipulations.

"What do you think it's saying?" I ask.

"I'm not sure, but it's beautiful."

"There is poetry of sailing as old as the world," I whisper in her ear, inhaling the scent that is salt water and sea air and my Ana.

"That sounds like a quote," she says, dipping her head back against me and looking up.

"It is; _The Little Prince._" I lean down and kiss the top of her nose. It's been kissed pink by the sun.

"I love that book!" she says.

"So do I."

"Really?" She turns in my lap to eyeball me.

"Don't look so surprised; even heartless megalomaniacs can appreciate a story about a boy who takes care of his precious rose."

"Yes, I love that part, especially." She smiles, kisses my cheek softly, and then turns and looks out onto the water again; my fingers wrapping over hers on the wheel once more.

As I steer us toward the marina and the lights and the city, the sun begins to dip behind the water. Hues of marigold and magenta and fire-born red are painted in broad and bold strokes across an amber lit horizon. The sun certainly doesn't go without a show, but it still always goes. And it's a harsh reminder that while there is a time of celebration when the sky is alive with color, darkness always comes and finds it.

"What makes the desert beautiful..." Ana says, cutting through the mire of my thoughts. Wait, I remember that part from the book.

"...what makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well," I say.

"Yes, Mr. Grey. It does." And with that, she rests her head back, directly atop my heart.

**_Next part coming tomorrow..._**


	37. Chapter 37

The crowds have returned. A new trail mix of idiot-kind is cheering and waving from the marina, watching as I steer my big boat into that tight slip. I look at Ana, who's still seated between my legs in the captain's chair, and grin. Yeah, I've had good practice with that.

"Back again," I say, and once securely docked I lift us both to standing and wrap my arms around her waist.

"Thank you," she says, her eyes sweet and sincere and I don't want to let go of her just yet, so I don't. "It was a perfect afternoon."

"Perfect?" I ask.

"Perfect," she says. And her lips wrapped around the purr of that word has me swooning.

"I thought so, too. Perhaps we can enroll you in sailing school, so we can go out for a few days, just the two of us." Without Mac! That would be a dream come true. She could ride me in the captain's chair and I'll perform all the hoisting activities.

"I'd love that. We can christen the bedroom again and again," she says.

"Hmm...I look forward to it, Anastasia." I lean down, tilt her chin up with my fingers, and kiss her softly. "Now, let's get going, before I take you back down to my bed and have my way with you again." I give her a light slap on the ass and she squeals.

"Are we going back to the hotel?" she asks as I take her hand and start to move us across the upper deck.

"No, the apartment is clean. We can go back there now."

"What about our things? Don't we have to check out?"

I smile. I think the last time I packed up and checked out of a hotel on my own was before I could drink legally. And even then I think my mom did it.

"Taylor has collected them already," I say.

She looks at me like I'm speaking Swahili while spinning on my head to Polka music.

"Earlier today, after he did a sweep of The Grace with his team," I say.

"Doesn't that man ever sleep?" she asks.

"He sleeps." I think. Although, I've never actually seen it with my own eyes. It's probably more like hanging upside down in a closet for forty winks with his ringer turned on full volume awaiting my call. Why the hell is she so worried about Taylor's bedroom activities, anyway? "He's just doing his job, Anastasia, which he's very good at. Jason is a real find."

"Jason?" She scrunches her nose.

"Yes, Jason Taylor."

"I thought his first name was Taylor. Why don't you call him Jason?" Oh great; now that she knows his first name they'll be even more familiar. She better not try to friend him on Facebook. Then again, she better not have a Facebook at all! I have to speak to Barney about this, maybe he can unfriend all males on the sly.

"I rarely call anyone by their first names, Anastasia."

"Why not?"

"Because then they expect things—like for you say hello and talk about weather and ask about their day—"

"You mean be friendly?"

"Exactly," I say. "I don't need that kind of negativity in my life." She laughs. She thinks I'm kidding.

"Well, I'm glad you call me by my first name," she says.

"That's because I want to be overly, inappropriately friendly with you, Anastasia." I stop our walk and lean down to nip her ear. She giggles and squirms and I'm tempted to take her in the galley and then take her in the galley, but instead we just stand there and I look into the bluest eyes I've ever seen. "And I want you to ask about my day, because I want it to be part of your day, too." Part of it? I want you to take it all, Anastasia.

"I want you to be a part of my day, too." She smiles, a blush dusting her cheeks as she leans up to kiss me.

"You're fond of Taylor," I say, and I intently monitor her reaction.

"Yes, I suppose I am." She nods. What the hell? She agreed so quickly and so affirmatively. Why is she so fond of a man who fantasizes about hand-to-hand combat and automobile pistons? Maybe it's his gorilla-like hands or his twelve-pack abs. No, I know what did it—it was those damn apples! Women just can't resist men with firearms and decorating tips.

"I'm not attracted to him, if that's why you're frowning. Stop," she says. Was I frowning? Fuck.

"I'm not frowning, that's just my listening face." She's not buying it.

"I think Taylor looks after you well," she says. "That's why I like him. He seems kind, reliable, and loyal. He has an avuncular appeal to me."

_Avuncular?_

"Avuncular?" I test the word. Ana considering Taylor to be like an uncle is comforting and yet troubling all at once. Although you can't fuck family, you can still wear your pajamas around them. And that'll happen the fuck over my dead body and my subsequent trip to hell and back, now and for-never.

"Avuncular," she says, with no room for further argument.

"Okay, avuncular," I begrudgingly concede. Although I don't particularly like it, at least she didn't say she was hot for his twelve-pack and guns.

"Oh, Christian, grow up, for heaven's sake."

Hell, where did that come from? I just conceded! My mouth drops open in surprise at such a bold statement, but even more surprising is the fact that nothing comes out but a sigh.

"I'm trying," I say.

"That you are. Very." She rolls her eyes, but then bursts out into giggles and I'm lost in them.

"Oh what memories you evoke when you roll your eyes at me, Anastasia." I grin. We're teasing again! It's so hot!

"Well, if you behave yourself, maybe we can relive some of those memories, Mr. Grey."

"Behave myself?" I raise a brow as something else rises down below. My, my, my... Such the saucy little lady today. If a sub had said that to me they'd get a few good lashes, but right now all I want is a few good strokes. "Really, Miss Steele—what makes you think I want to relive them?"

"Probably the way your eyes lit up like Christmas when I said that."

I have to bite my own lip to stop my smiling. "You know me so well already."

"I'd like to know you better," she says and she holds tight to my hand again.

"And I you, Anastasia." I lift it to my mouth and we start to move again.

#######

"Sorry to rush off like this, Mac," I say with a grimace, shaking his hand as we ready to leave. "But, we have plans." I give him a look that says we're going back to our place to fuck on every possible surface, in every possible way, for as long as humanly possible, and then we're going to live happily the fuck ever after. Believe me, you can get all that into a look.

"It was a pleasure, Miss Steele," Mac says in that over-the-top accent of his. Hell, to listen to him now you'd think he was fresh off the ship from Ireland via the end of the rainbow.

"You, too," Ana says, and she shakes his hand so sweetly. Why is she so sweet with him? She better not think he's avuncular, too.

"Good day, Mac. And thank you." I say, and pull her hand from his and put it in mine.

"You as well, mucker!" he says And though he's jolly as he says it and I've learned from him prior that _mucker_ is _mate_, I can't help but think he's added an _other_ after _m_ and an _f_ before _ucker_ in his mind.

"Where's Mac from?" she asks as we make our way down the boardwalk. One of the cheering contingency is still waving at us even though we aren't waving back. Waving really is the sport of the mindless.

"Ireland...Northern Ireland," I say. Why the hell does she want to know Mac's lineage? Did that accent really turn her on? Maybe I should start speaking French to her more. I get the delicious idea to orally please her while reciting poetry en français.

"Is he your friend?" she asks, like she's trying to be casual about it, but she's definitely after information.

"Mac?" Ha! "He works for me. Helped build _The Grace_."

She's looking up at me like she wants to say something more, but is almost afraid. Oh god, is she into him? Is this the moment she tells me it's over and my life ends? My mind flips to a fast coming future of me giving Mac the knife.

"Do you have many friends?" she finally asks, and though I'm relieved, I suddenly feel like I'm in my psychiatrist's office as a child, with my parents, and that asshole shrink is evaluating me again. _Is he behaved? Is he learning well? Do the other children like him?_

"Not really," I say. "Doing what I do...I don't cultivate friendships." I don't really have a good answer for her. My brother and I hike now and then. Flynn and I have golfed. I think it was over a year ago, but still. Congratulations Grey, the only people who will tolerate you are you're brother and current psychiatrist, and it's marginally at best. "There's really only—" I stop immediately. Almost walked right off the pier on that one, both figuratively and literally. Because, if I would've said Elena's name Ana may have pushed me off.

"Hungry?" I ask, attempting to get the focus off of old news and onto dinner, and she nods. "We'll eat where I left the car. Come."

#######

"What date is this?" Ana asks as we walk into the little Italian place I've chosen—the one directly next to SP's. I've only been here once, and though the food was good, I was quite uncomfortable as this place oozes romance. With all the flowers and low lighting and the cozy tables that look out over the water, you'd think this was on the island of Capri and somebody might get down on one knee. It made me uncomfortable to be here alone before, but tonight I'm looking forward to it. And I'm surprised by the itch in my knee that yearns to find the floor.

"What's the date?" I look at my watch. "Six-and-a-half days before I throw the rubbers to the road!" I grin.

"No," she laughs. She thinks I'm joking, but this is how I tell time right now—when I can be inside of her bare again. It only happened briefly before, but it was heaven. "I mean what date is this for us?"

"What do you mean?" I ask as I motion to the hostess for a table for two. And though I don't frequent this place, she definitely knows it's me and leads us to their best. And the whole walk assholes are eyeing my girl. I put my arm around her protectively and stare down some cheap suit with a three-strand combover. Yeah, watch and weep, fucker! She's mine.

"Now, I know our first real official big dress-up date was last night," she says. "But, we've been out to dinner and breakfast and soaring before—and now sailing." She's beaming as I pull out her chair and so am I.

"I'd like to think this isn't a date," I say as I find my seat across from her, which is really almost next to her as the tables are so small. I like this; I can reach her thigh without getting my collar caught in my soup. "In fact, I don't want to date you anymore."

"What?" Her face falls into a frown.

"No; you see a date implies that it's a plan." I lean in and fiddle with her hands. "I ask you somewhere, you agree to go or not, and it may or may not happen again. And some other asshole could do the same." Believe me, if some other asshole tried that his plumbing would be so permanently rearranged he'd piss out of his ear forever.

"So, you're saying..."

"I'm saying..." I take her hand and bring her knuckles to my lips. "I want today and tonight and every time we're together to be a regular, assumed, taken for granted that you'll be with me from now on type of thing." Did I just kind of, sort of, in a roundabout way say I want to marry her. I don't think she noticed, but I sure did. And I also notice the bare finger I'm kissing on her left hand. The itching in my knee intensifies.

"So you're not breaking up with me?" she asks.

I actually laugh out loud at that one and the guy pouring water in glasses nearly spills his pitcher. "Most definitively the polar opposite of that, Miss Steele."

"Okay...so tonight is definitely not a date." She smiles.

"Definitely, positively not." I smile in return and the words '_will you move in with me—forever?'_ are on the tip of my tongue. But, like a timid child on a high diving board, they just won't jump off.

"Good evening," some painfully animated voice calls out to me from behind. The way he says it makes me think I just arrived in Transylvania and knocked on Dracula's door. I look up at him and now I'm almost sure I have. "Can I interest you in some wine? Perhaps a cocktail?"

"Wine, Petit Syrah." Go away!

"We have several bottles to select from—"

"Whatever's the best," I say. Scram!

"Our best is $400—"

"Good, make it two."

"Glasses?"

"Bottles!"

"Yes, sir." He scurries away. Big money always gets them going.

"Why did you get two bottles?" she asks, completely baffled by my outlandish purchase. Now, I really can't tell her about the house!

"Because he was pissing me off," I say and she laughs and all is right in the world again. "We'll take the other bottle home and celebrate with it there."

"Celebrate what?" she asks. You moving in with me. You monogramming you towels and Louis Vuitton luggage with G. You having to do wrist strengthening exercises because the rock on your hand is too heavy for you to hold it up. Well, that and you please me often and well. I step to the edge of the board...

"You in my bed," I say instead, still not able to take that jump. Fuck, Grey! Grow some balls! And some diving abilities.

She dips her head down, bashful, then looks up at me with a completely transformed expression and the eyes of a pure seductress. "I can think of better ways to celebrate that than just drinking wine."

Oh, my balls have grown alright, right along with my other diving abilities. And this table is awfully low. One more comment like that and a bite of her lip, and I'm going to raise it to the roof with my geyser. Talk about water sports.

"You look lovely, Anastasia. The outdoors agrees with you," I say, as we both sip our wine that has just arrived. It's a good year and vineyard, but they've stored it improperly. I won't make a fuss, but I'm giving the second bottle to Taylor. Ana and I will celebrate with Bollinger later.

"I feel rather windburned, to tell the truth," she says "But I had a lovely afternoon. Thank you."

"My pleasure," I murmur.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, Anastasia. You know that." I gulp my next sip. If I have to answer more sex questions about Elena, I'm going to need that second bottle of wine, myself.

"You don't seem to have many friends. Why is that?"

Hell—this again!

"I told you, I don't really have time. I have business associates—though that's very different from friendships, I suppose. I have my family and that's it. Apart from..." I sip my wine and garble, "Elena." And though I said it practically under water—or rather Petit Syrah—I watch her carefully at the mention of that name.

"No male friends your own age?" she asks. I can't believe she didn't react to Elena. I may live to fuck her later in our bedroom after all.

"Why would I want that?" I set down my wine.

"You know, to let off steam with?" She raises her brow for me to get some sort of inference in her words. What the hell? Why would I want to let off steam with other men? I pick my glass up and take another sip. I think I'd rather answer questions about Elena collaring me than this.

"Steam? What kind of steam?" I ask, and she rolls her eyes. "You know how I like to let off steam, Anastasia." My mouth twists and so does hers as she strokes the back of my hand with her fingertips. "And I've been working, building up the business. That's all I do—except sail and fly occasionally." Don't fucking ask about Mac again! The only steam I'll let off with him now is a knee straight to his lucky charms.

"Not even in college?"

"Not really." I went out to coffee with a speech and debate nerd once, but he definitely had heard the rumors and didn't want to speak or debate anything but my dorm or his.

"Just Elena, then?" she asks. She says the name like it's hellfire, which is rather accurate.

I just nod slowly. Where is she going with this?

"Must be lonely," she says.

"Contrary to popular belief at this table, I'm not a friendly kind of guy. I told you that. I don't get lonely. Except for you." I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss her fingertips.

"People would like you if they got to know you."

"What would you like to eat?" I set her hand down and open the menu.

"Are you changing the subject?"

"Yes."

"Okay, fine." She sighs. "I'm going for the risotto."

"Good choice." I summon the waiter.

"Yes, sir, have you decided?" he asks. I've never heard someone with a lisp enunciate like this guy. If I didn't know we were inside I'd think it was raining. Disgusting.

"One risotto, a ribeye bone-in medium and an assortment of vegetables. The lobster mashed potatoes if you have them... And a vanilla soufflé for dessert." I hand him the menus. "We'll speak again when you bring the check."

"Yes, sir." The waiter scurries off and I'm pleased he's gone and accomplishing something, but when I look back to Ana, I see she is still deep in thought.

"Anastasia, what's wrong? Tell me." She looks up and examines my face, but she doesn't say anything. This makes me nervous. "Tell me."

She inhales sharply and after a long breath, she speaks," I'm just worried that this isn't enough for you. You know, to let off steam."

What the fuck? She wants me to be friends with other men to let off steam? I definitely need that other bottle.

"Have I given you any indication that this isn't enough?"

"No."

"Then why do you think that?"

"I know what you're like. What you...um...need."

And she thinks I can get that with other men? I close my eyes and rub my face. It feels like my past is always going to haunt us.

"What do I have to do?" I ask, quietly. "Because I'll do anything."

"No, you misunderstand—you have been amazing, sweet, romantic, and I know it's just been a few days, but I hope I'm not forcing you to be someone you're not."

I sigh. I've been amazing. I've been sweet. I've been romantic. That should make me happy to hear those words from her. But, all I hear is those last three— someone I'm not.

"I'm still me, Anastasia—in all my fifty shades of fucked-upness. Yes, I have to fight the urge to be controlling...but that's my nature, how I've dealt with my life. Yes, I expect you to behave a certain way, and when you don't it's both challenging and refreshing. We still do what I like to do. You let me spank you after your outrageous bid yesterday." I smile; that was fun. "I enjoy punishing you. I don't think the urge will ever go...but I'm trying, and you know what, it's not as hard as I thought it would be." And that is the revelation of my life.

"I didn't mind that," she whispers, smiling shyly.

"I know." I grin. "Neither did I. But let me tell you, Anastasia, this is all new to me and these last few days..." I'm picturing our helicopter ride to Portland and how being with her again felt like coming home; our night of grocery shopping, and chopping evil vegetables, and being covered in vanilla ice cream; sleeping next to her and waking up the same; and the way her eyes sparkled in the moonlight when I danced with her and then when we really made love... "These last few days have been the best in my life. I don't want to change anything."

"They've been the best in my life, too, without exception," she says.

"Really?" I ask, and the pubescent squeak at the end of that question has me fourteen again.

"So, you don't want to take me into your playroom?" she asks and I search for a breath.

"No, I don't."

"Why not?" she whispers. She looks almost disappointed. Is she?

"The last time we were in there you left me," I say, closing my eyes, futilely trying to rid my mind of that day. "I will shy away from anything that could make you leave me again."

"Even something that makes you happy?"

"You make me happy." I squeeze her hand. "What makes you happy, makes me happy."

"But it hardly seems fair. It can't be relaxing for you—to be constantly concerned about how I feel. You've made all these changes for me, and I...I think I should reciprocate in some way. I don't know—maybe...try...some role-playing games..." I smile. Role-playing games. Her innocence is so beautiful.

"Ana, you do reciprocate, more than you know. Please, please don't feel like this." I hold to her hand, because I want to hold it and I don't want there to be a chance she could ever go. "Baby, it's only been one weekend. We need time. You need to trust me, and I you, then maybe... Maybe we could try... But, I like how you are now. I like seeing you this happy, this relaxed and carefree..." With my other hand I brush the side of her face and tuck those disobedient strands of hair behind her ear again. They never behave. I smile. And I can only hope that this will be my job for life. "Knowing that I had something to do with your happiness. I have never—" I stop, remembering Flynn's words. "We have to walk before we can run, Ana." And those words repeated have me laughing to myself.

"What's so funny?" she asks.

"Flynn. He says that all the time. I never thought I'd be quoting him."

"A Flynnism." She giggles.

"Exactly." Her giggles really are the best therapy. I could've saved millions knowing this.

The entrées arrive and they're enough to feed a family of eight—elephants. If Ana eats a tenth of that risotto, I'll declare victory on the war against her starvation. She really is too light right now. And it pains me greatly that I have been the reason for it.

"Where have you been?" I ask over a sip of wine.

"Just at college. Waiting for a boy like you to sweep me off my feet." She grins. I swept her off her feet? I swoon.

"No, I mean where have you travelled? What have you seen of the world that you've liked?" Where can I take you Ana? If she says the moon, I'll build a rocket ship. No, that may be too dangerous. I'll bring the moon to her.

"I haven't really seen any of the world..." She blows on a steaming forkful. So hot! Her blowing, not the temperature of the arborio rice. "Other than the Pacific Northwest, just Texas and Georgia." She takes the bite and it's so satisfying for her and me both.

"We're going to have to get you a passport," I say.

"Why is that?" she asks.

"Because I'm going to show you the world."

"You already have." she smiles and I feel the fluttering again.

"Besides, I still owe you that date in Paris," I say, remembering our morning and our lovemaking and our breakfast.

"I don't want a date in Paris," she says and I immediately frown.

"Why not?" I ask, panicked.

"Because..." she takes my hand. "I want it to be a regular, assumed, taken for granted that I'll be with you from now on type of thing." She smiles.

And with that the butterflies take flight.


	38. Chapter 38

**_So sorry for the delay! I just did a big update on my other Fifty story, which is Grey Hearts and Flowers. I don't ever want to give you guys rushed work, so that the reason for the wait. This is a pretty long one. Hope you enjoy this! I appreciate all your comments and favs! I have gotten such sweet and thoughtful comments from you guys. Just know I read every one and it means so much that you have all been so supportive. And your interest in this story and my other stories means the world to me! And yes, much more to come. xox_**

The Audi is gone when we return. Make that Ana's vandalized Audi, there are a dozen others surrounding it. In it's place sits one of the sportiest, prettiest, jazziest little top-down, safety-up models on the market—Ana's hot off the lot Saab. I hadn't thought about it before, but that spot is the one that every one of my submissives parked in on Friday nights and left empty on Sundays just before evening. I chose it because it was easily accessible, far enough removed from my own and would subtly remind each girl, every time she came or went, that she was only a guest here. It's also a stark reminder of the hole in my life I tried desperately to fill—and empty again—with fifteen other cars that were all the same. The irony isn't lost on me that it's now been filled with a spunky, sparkly, totally out of my comfort zone, but surprisingly more pleasurable sight than I could ever imagine— something entirely different.

"Your car has arrived, Miss Steele," I say as I open the passenger side door and offer her a hand to help her out. My eyes dart to every shadowed corner or threat for unwelcome entrance. Sawyer is patrolling down here, but at a moment's notice I will be ready to protect Ana from Leila, if need be. And I wouldn't hesitate to throw myself in front of her to take a bullet through the heart myself.

"It's so pretty," Ana squeals and giggles as she circles it, letting her fingers trail along the back end as she heads for the front, causing me to want to do the same to her. "I thought they said it was coming from California next week."

"I make things happen fast," I say, almost snapping my fingers demonstratively, but wisely stopping myself before the evidence of my bafoonery is made more public than it already has been. I bet that fucker at the dealership nearly shit a brick when he found out I was me, and then put the word out to get me one on the triple. He'll be rewarded for that. He may be a four left hoofed jackass, but his work today gave me her smile now.

"You're not fast with everything," she raises a brow. "That's one of the things I love about you." Love about me? My knees feel wobbly, a symptom of my newfound illness—swooner's disease.

"Well, some things should be done fast," I say. "And some definitely need time to be done properly." The way I just said properly, I would even fuck me on the car hood right now.

While I'm considering how to make new car hood action happen fast and discreetly, Ana dashes over to me and throws her arms around my neck. I marvel that I don't even flinch at this. My heart beats fast and I gasp from the breath I lost just looking at her smiling at me, but I don't panic. Being surprised by touch isn't always a bad thing. In fact, it can be damn good. She's teaching me that.

"Thank you, Mr. Grey." She kisses me softly, her lips lingering on mine until they gently pull away, and all of it leaving a warm feeling in the center of my chest that spreads and fills long held and deeply cratered wounds. Who knew that warmth could cool hellfire.

"For what, the car?" I ask. She nearly killed me the two times before. Third time's the charm? Gasp–maybe she just doesn't like Audis.

"Yes, but so much more than that," she brushes my cheek with her fingertips. "This weekend has been... Everything..." She then touches my lips and gazes deep into my eyes, seemingly unafraid of what they hold. "Thank you for existing, Mr. Grey."

I inhale sharply. I'm floored. I have been nothing but a burden for everyone in my life. My family are saints and they love me out of duty. My birth mother at best hated me, or probably more likely than not wished me dead. But, Ana has no duty to me or obligation, and yet she still says this. She thanks me for nothing more than simply living. And for a man who's spent a lifetime wishing he was never born, it hits me hard that for once I'm thankful that I was.

"Come, let's go inside." I kiss her forehead, then take hold of her hand. We're going home.

"Sawyer," I say as he greets us at the elevator. I've told him to patrol around the garage and he's standing here? I highly doubt Leila would try to sneak in by buzzing herself up to my foyer. Why isn't he by the trash shoots or the fire escapes? Hell, looking up the side of the building from the street would probably be a better way to spot her spider-womaning up.

"Hi, Sawyer," Ana says with a cute wave that catches me, and I think him, off guard. Why's she being so cute with him?

"Mr. Grey, Miss Steele," he nods, and knowing the progeny in his balls are at risk if he gives any "cuteness" back to her, he wisely remains looking like an asshole.

"Any word on Leila?" I ask.

"No, sir."

"Maybe you should walk around a little and see if you've missed anything." I wave him away and usher Ana into the elevator.

"You're not to go out of here alone, understand?" I say as I punch in the code that gets us moving skyward. I'm expecting an argument that I'm already ten steps ahead of in my mind, but then she does the most surprising thing—she laughs.

"What's so funny?" I ask. Even when I'm prepared for her, I'm thoroughly unprepared.

"You are." She continues to giggle. It's adorable, but confusing as fuck. First, she's excited about the car; now she's jovial at being told what to do. Next she'll want to take my black Amex and go on a shopping spree at Gucci. If only! Maybe it was that ill stored wine. Maybe I should buy a few more bottles.

"Don't pout," she says, and manually uses her fingers to turn my frown upside down. I didn't even know I was pouting. It just felt like my regular face.

"Why shouldn't I pout, Miss Steele?"

"Because it has the same effect on me that it does on you when I do this." She bites down firmly on that juicy bottom lip.

Fuck.

"Really?" I ask and remove it from her teeth with the pad of my thumb. "Well, I'm not sure if it's a blessing or a curse that pouting and lip biting are our two favorite pastimes."

"I think it's two sides of the same coin, Mr. Grey," she says with a smirk and then winks.

Damn.

"You using my words against me has consequences, Miss Steele." I grin.

"I do hope so." She looks at me for moment, then leans up, fists her hands through my hair and starts kissing me. Her fingers twist and pull my locks, her chest heaves toward me, and we ignite. In no time I've slammed her back into the wall, and we're all lips and tongues and my hand halfway up her shirt and onto her breast.

_Ding_.

Damn!

The elevator doors open and I reluctantly pull my face from hers, but our bodies stay connected—as does my hand on her breast—for a good moment or seventy-four longer.

"Whoa," I say, all breathy and wanting.

"Whoa," she responds the same.

"What you do to me, Ana." I trace her bottom lip with my thumb as I try to find air.

"You do the same to me," she says, but I know that's impossible. I worship a goddess, she doesn't know the devil.

"Come," I say as I pull away from her and take her hand, leading her into the foyer. The Madonnas are all watching from their place on the wall as we go. And though for years I've always thought they were sad or judgmental or pitying, today I feel as if they're smiling. I suppose my outlook on things reflects how I see them. Or, maybe Ana being here has turned the virgin frowns upside down, too. She was formerly one of them, after all.

Something is moving in the shadows as we enter the apartment. Just around the corner, beneath the steps that lead to the great room. I hear a bump and slight clank. It's like an escaping cat burglar just tripped into something, or an inebriated person is trying to fix a drink in the dark.

"Stay back," I say to Ana, and shield her with my body as I grab an ancient Chinese vase I picked up at a Christie's auction from a nearby table for protection. I peek around the corner, ready to strike with my nearly 1.2 million dollar weapon, when I see Taylor standing there, next to the bar cart. What the fuck is he doing lingering back there in the dark with the crystal decanters?

"I wanted to give you two privacy on your return, sir," he says. Oh, he saw us kissing and ran to hide. That was a good reaction. I like that he fears me on some level. I loosen my grip on Ana's hand. At least there's no intruder and Taylor's not a secret raging alcoholic.

"Thank you, Taylor," I say. Though Taylor walking in on me and a woman doing sexual activities isn't unusual, this is Ana. I don't want him seeing any of her pleasure. Ever. Her O face is mine alone.

"Mr. Grey, Miss Steele," he nods to us both.

I'm feeling good. We're home. We're safe. And then, like last night before we left for the hotel, everything starts happening in slow, torturous motion. There's another little wave from her to him, and a smile, followed by the single foulest thing I've ever heard...

"I was Mrs. Taylor last night," she says and smiles again. More smiles! For him! What is this a fucking happy face parade? And worse, the fucker blushes back. I didn't even know Taylor had blood in his cheeks!

"That has a nice ring to it," he says, and though he says it with little emotion or meaningful inflection, he still says it. What the fuck is he saying? Whatever it is, it's nearly enough for me to let go of her hand and put it in his face. But, then I remember I need him to do that to others for me, so I try Flynn's tactic of counting down from thirty before blast-off.

"I thought so, too," she giggles. Giggles!

I only make it to thirteen. I can't stand it anymore. This rocket is going to launch.

"I was Mr. Taylor last night," I say abruptly, and they both stop smiling and look at me like I'm a duck who doesn't know where the water is. "If you two are quite finished, I'd like to be briefed," I snap and glare at Taylor. "But first, I'd like a word with _my girlfriend_ in the room where we'll be sleeping together tonight. A lot."

I lead her quickly into my bedroom and stand in front of her for a moment, staring, not knowing quite what to say or what action I should take. Something like that would require a whipping before, an elaborate scene where proper punishment for such a brazen act of treason would be paid for in lashes. There would be hell to pay, but today...

"Don't flirt with the staff, Anastasia," I say, though it comes across less "laying down the law" and more like a child not wanting to share his favorite toy.

She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it again, and repeats.

"If you keep doing that, flies are going to set up house in your tonsils," I say. Oh how I'd like to find my way with my tongue or other throat seeking appendage to those tonsils.

"I wasn't flirting with Taylor, I was being friendly," she says, scrunching her nose. If that's her idea of being friendly, then she's definitely the fuck never seeing the photographer again! I may have to have him removed to another state!

"Don't be friendly or flirt with the staff, then. I don't like it."

"You have no reason to be jealous, Christian." She grabs for my hand and strokes my index finger, which is pretty fucking hot. "You own me body and soul."

But, she's wrong. I don't own anything about her. We have nothing in writing. She lives and thinks by her own free will—mostly. Except when mentally unstable outsiders get involved. We have feelings and words and promises, but aren't those what clouds and sandcastles are made of? It's odd for me, being a man who's built an empire and whatever life I have on signatures, to believe that that could be enough. Like Elena reminded me yesterday, young girls change their minds. And my real fear is that while she is my whole world, one day she'll just be a wind that blew through it.

I close my eyes and shake my head. I need to clear my mind of this.

"I won't be long," I say, as I pull my hand away from hers. "Make yourself at home." I give her a quick kiss on the cheek and leave her there.

My steps weigh heavy as I make my way to the office. Is she mad at me? Should I be mad at her? Should I go back and say I'm sorry for overreacting? But, she flirted with him! I'm so confused. Maybe I should order some back issues of Cosmopolitan for further research.

"Taylor, give me details," I say, as I slam the door to my office for us to confer. I'm still giving him the iceberg tip of a cold shoulder, but he thrives on hostility, so that actually enlivens him.

"The emergency stairwell looks to be the place she got in," he says, edgy and then looks a bit apprehensive. This is old news, what's he hiding? "She left a note, sir."

"A note? For me?" I ask and he nods. "Where?"

"It was left in the office, on your desk, along with this." He hands me a newspaper clipping of Ana and I at her graduation haphazardly glued to a piece of crimson construction paper that rivals the color of my playroom walls. The article is also underlined in red in key places—every time _Anastasia_ is written, every time the word _couple_ makes an appearance, or my name, and finally the last sentence from the smart ass journalist of the piece: _Sorry Ladies, it looks like the elusive billionaire Christian Grey is taken. I can already hear the sound of heart's breaking everywhere. _

"Where's the note?" I ask, my hand shaking as he gives it to me and I read: _Master is dark. But, Master was smiling. She has no rules. But, she needs to be taught his lessons. She needs to know from someone who's been there. Someone with her long brown hair. But, why does Master sleep with the one who looks like me now in the place I was caned for trying to go? _

"Holy shit," I say.

"We've also been made aware that she's been in contact with Susannah." My heart nearly falls. Another one.

"What do you mean contact? Is Susannah helping her?" Susannah was my last submissive. She was cute and mischievous, and much more of a pain seeker than even I was comfortable with. I could have my way with her, yes, but there was a price. She became attached to me, like I was some sort of father figure, as her own left her at seven. So, the day she asked me if she could move in full-time is the day I had Taylor pack her bags.

"We have no confirmation, Mr. Grey, but Leila was seen leaving her place two days ago on building surveillance."

"Are you telling me another one has gone crazy?" This has to be some kind of record!

"We have no reason to believe that—"

"Well, get in contact with Susannah!"

"We tried, but she apparently has a new man in her life, sir. And she's been away. New man in her life? Just say it—new Dom and she's at his place. Good. Keep her the fuck away. My new motto is—not my monkeys, not my circus. Unfortunately every nut job monkey I ever knew is trying to banana stab their way back into my big top.

"So, how the hell did you get surveillance on Susannah's place?" I ask.

"We expanded the investigation to include all your old...friends, Mr. Grey."

"We weren't friends, we never talked."

"Yes, sir." he nods. "Make that arrangements."

"That's better."

"Nothing came up on any of the others. Though, you might want to know that Mrs. Stone is due any day now with a son."

"Who the hell is Mrs. Stone?" I count back nine months and nearly choke on a sharp inhale of my own spit. Is he saying?—wait. No, I was newly with Susannah then. And I never fucked married women. Well, not once I reached drinking age. "Who the fuck is Mrs. Stone?"

"Dawn McKay, sir," he says. "She's married now and lives in Eugene."

"Dawn is having a baby?" I ask, flabbergasted, and he nods. Wow. I wonder if she'll do natural childbirth, she had such narrow birthing hips. She'll always be two things to me. First, that girl who I had to train my mind when saying her name to think of something other than early light and dish washing liquid. And second, that first girl I suspended and tied too tight that Taylor had to help me cut down. Talk about your bough breaking nightmares. You've never gone through something with a man until you're buck naked and fully erect in your dungeon cutting loose your naked submissive from the ceiling together. It was all downhill with Dawn after that. "Well, that's news. Send her a fruit basket and an array of diaper products or something."

"Very well, Mr. Grey."

"So, you think Leila's stalking Susannah, too?" I ask. "That doesn't make any sense. She has nothing to do with me now."

"Consensus is she may be trying to use her for information, since Susannah was your last—"

I hold up a hand. "No, Taylor—_the last_."

"Yes, Mr. Grey." He wiggles his lips a bit, and though most people would say it's an itch or a tick, I know it's a smile.

"What does Welch say about all this? Get him on the line!"

Taylor moves to my desk and dials, putting it on speakerphone. Six fucking rings! What kind of jackass service provider doesn't have it go to voicemail by now?

"Grey," Welch answers—on the seventh ring! He sounds like he's been asleep with a cigarette hanging off his lip for hours.

"Do you have someone watching Susannah Rosseau's place?" I never said her name all together like that before. It sounds so French. And so red light district.

"We're monitoring surveillance footage, but so far nothing else," he says. "I deduce she went to visit her friend, she wasn't there, so she left." I want to deduce my foot right up his ass.

"Since when they are friends?"

"They've been spotted with each other a few times in the past, we've learned. Nothing unusual. Lunch and shit. They saw _Mama Mia_ when it came to town."

"What the fuck is that about?"

"A girl in Greece singing _Abba_ with her Mom and some guys who could be her father."

"Not the fucking show! Their friendship!"

"I don't know. Two young women. Common denominator," he grunts a laugh. "Trust me, we're on it." The laugh made him cough and I think I just heard him hacking up a loogie. Disgusting. "Look, I don't believe this Miss Rosseau is bat shit, but Leila Williams is. And considering this dame leaped tall buildings in a single bound and back again last night, I'd suggest that you and Miss Steele keep security tight tomorrow."

"Of course, I'll have her stay home from work until this is all settled." I look to Taylor. "I have a morning meeting, but bring me home at lunch." Ana and I can fuck all afternoon, have dinner and a well aged cognac, then fuck again, maybe a bubble bath before a good night fuck and cuddle.

"Yes, Mr. Grey," Taylor says.

"How close are we to finding her?" I ask Welch.

"Closer than yesterday," he says.

"You mean when she was currently in my residence and you couldn't find her?"

"Hey, even I can't be expected to expect a girl to climb up a thirty story building."

"Well, expect the unexpected, or expect to be out of a job!" I hang up.

"Taylor," I say. "I want you to do something for me."

"Yes, sir?"

"Remove Miss Steele's new car from its space and transfer it to the one directly next to mine."

"The permanent space, sir?"

"Yes," I say.

"Right away, Mr. Grey." He grabs the keys that are on my desk and hightails it out the door.

I have to get back to Ana. She's been left to her own devices for far too long.

When I enter my bedroom, I don't see her and I panic. My throat ceases up and I lose my breath as my whole world is kicked off its axis. Just before I alert security, I hear rustling and turn to see the light is on in the closet.

She's here, thank God, looking through her clothes that are next to my clothes now. Taylor's done a good job mixing everything in. She's got a side and I've got a side, yet a few things are happily intermingled. I quite like that my ties are facing her dresses, and my shoes have a view of hers. And that her satin negligees are hanging next to the full length mirror, so I can brush them with my fingers before I start the day.

"Oh, they moved," I say, gauging her reaction, which she hasn't given me yet. She's just fingering the buttons of a white silk blouse.

Yes," she says, then looks up at me and her expression changes from something I can't read to concern. "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You're pale and you look so worried. Did you find something troubling out?" she asks. If only she knew the trouble I've seen.

"Taylor thinks Leila was getting in through the emergency stairwell. It's protected now, so I don't want you to worry. You are safe." But, that note just won't leave my mind. _She has no rules. But, she needs to be taught his lessons..._

"Is there something else?" she asks.

"I just wish we could find her. She's evading all of our attempts. She needs help." And to my surprise, Ana steps forward and wraps her arms around me, embracing me with such care.

"What's this for?" I ask.

"Sometimes you just need a hug."

"You know, I'm beginning to realize you're right," I say, wrapping my arms around the small of her back and for a few quiet moments, in the cocoon of our now married wardrobes, we hold each other.

"What will you do once you find her?" she asks, looking up at me as I keep her encircled in my arms.

"Dr. Flynn has a place."

"What about her husband?"

"He's washed his hands of her," I say. "She has family in Connecticut, but I think she's very alone out there."

"That's sad."

"Well, believe me, I'm not crying for her. After what she could've done..." What she still could do... I can't handle those thoughts. I don't want to talk about Leila anymore. I pull away quickly and inspect the closet further. Anything other than looking into Ana's eyes and knowing that because of me, Leila could bring her harm.

"I hope you are okay with all your stuff being here," I say, touching the strap of a new Hermès handbag I imagine her taking to society lunches and boring business soirées. Maybe one day someone will ask her where she got it and she'll say my husband gave it to me. And then we'll return home from a long day and disrobe and be together... A shared closet really is the intimate mingling of two lives. It's what I want with her. I take a deep breath and before I realize the enormity of what I'm saying, the words flow out, "I want you to share my room with me."

"Yes," she says, and I turn to face her. She agreed. She really agreed. She didn't even hesitate. She gave me _yes_ the same way she thanked me for being alive.

"I want you sleeping with me, Ana," I say as I take hold of her face with both hands and get lost in her eyes. "I don't have nightmares when you're with me, baby."

"You have nightmares?"

"Yes." I close my eyes, shaking my head to free myself from the images, as if that small action would have the power to erase memories seared into my mind and onto my flesh. And again, without a word, Ana wraps her arms around me. Her hold on me is firmer, as if to make sure that I know she won't let me go. I can tell she's trying to stick to the boundaries, but she's slid up a little further than I'm usually comfortable with. Usually. But, not right now.

"Will you tell me about them?" she asks.

"I don't want all that in your head."

"But, maybe if you tell me, you'll get it out of your head. Not all at once, but slowly over time, maybe you can let go of it piece by piece as you give them to me."

"I'm not giving you my pain, Ana."

"I don't mind feeling more of it, if it makes you feel less."

"But, I do, Ana." I sigh. This beautiful girl. "So, what were you doing in here? Picking out a negligee perhaps?" I smile and kiss her head, effectively changing the subject.

"I prefer one of your t-shirts tonight, Mr. Grey."

"I prefer you naked, so we can ditch the negligee and the t-shirt tonight." I raise a brow and she laughs.

"No, I was actually getting my clothes ready for tomorrow," she says as she lazily pulls away, keeping hold of one of my hands just at the fingertips. I smile, luxuriating in the warmth of her gentle touch, but then it registers in my love soaked brain what she's just said.

"Work!" I say, though I may as well have just listed the crimes of America's Ten Most Wanted.

"Yes, work," she says, and her hand slips from mine to fiddle with some dress slacks.

"No work," I say. "Leila is out there. I don't want you going anywhere tomorrow, especially work."

"That's ridiculous, Christian. I have to go to work." She waltzes right past me and out of the closet, and I have no choice but to follow her.

"No, you don't," I say, nearly crashing into her when she stops abruptly at the dresser to dig for something in her purse.

"I have a new job, which I enjoy, of course I have to work."

"No you don't."

She pulls out a lip balm and puckers to apply, sliding the slick jelly over her pout, then smacking her lips together and smearing the edges with her finger, until she's satisfied with her wet cherry vanilla mouth. Hell, that's hot.

"Do you think I'm just going sit here all day twiddling my thumbs while you're off being Master of the Universe?" she asks. We're back to this.

"Frankly, yes."

She rolls her eyes and throws the lip balm back into her bag. Why is she still using that cheap sack that's one step away from a backpack? There's a Hermès Birkin bag in the closet!

"I need to go to work," she says, moving back into the closet and pulling out a pair of high heels.

"No you don't."

"I've only been there a week! Jack says he needs me for a lot of important things."

"I'm sure! That's even more of a reason not to go." That fucker. I haven't even begun to deal with him!

She puts the heels back and pulls out another pair, which she looks seemingly more satisfied with. They look exactly the fucking same! But, then I notice all her vacant shoe cubbies. She only has the five shoes I've bought her and her ratty old Converse sneakers. Damn it, the woman needs more shoes!

"I have to go," she says, laying out a skirt and blouse next to the shoes, and then observing them all together.

"No, you don't."

"Yes. I. Do."

"It's not safe."

She turns and looks up at me, pursing those newly slicked lips and squinting her eyes. I fear what's about to happen.

"Are you going to work?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Well, won't you be unsafe?"

"Anastasia, I'm not concerned with my own safety as much as I am yours."

"Well, I am."

"Well, you don't have to worry, I'll have security all around."

"That's not enough for me."

"Ana, I have a multi billion dollar company to run. I can't take off."

She gasps and steps back. Shit. Speaking of which, I think I just stepped in a pile of it.

"So your job is more important than mine just because it's more important than mine?" she huffs.

"What? No. I mean..." Dig yourself out, Grey. "Ana, the difference is I have to work for a living."

She exhales exasperated. "Christian, I have to work for a living, too."

"No, you don't have to work for a living!" I say and she stares, dumbfounded, at me. I just told her I want to support her for the rest of her life, didn't I? Too much too soon? No, it's progress! I've been tongue-tied all weekend, it's about time I blurt some things out. Besides, it's true. And she already agreed to cohabitate with me to some degree. Sure, we're only truly living together in my closet, but it's a big start.

"I have to pay my student loans," she says. "Interest accumulates." Fuck, I better take care of those.

"Ana—"

"I'll be fine," she says, darting out of the closet and to her computer bag on the bed.

"How do you know you be fine?" I ask, pacing back and forth at this madness, as she stuffs her Mac and some papers inside the bag. Why does she want to fetch coffee and take notes for Jack Hyde so badly when people will do it for her right here?

"May I remind you last night, while I was here, Leila was standing right there at the foot of your bed—"

"_Our_ bed," I say.

"What?"

"You share it with me now. It's _ours_."

"Alright... _our_ bed." She eyes me, quizzically. "The point is, she could've hurt me then, but she didn't."

"I don't want you to go!"

"It's not your decision to make. If I have to drive my car out of here tomorrow—"

"You don't have the keys."

"Are you holding me hostage?"

"I'm considering it."

"Christian!"

We stare at each other, neither of us backing down. She puts her hands on her hips and taps her toe, all the while her eyes are drilled into mine. She's so hot all worked up at like this, but I can't enjoy it because I'm pissed as hell and can't do a damn thing about it.

"Fine," I say, after so much time passes with us staring and nothing getting accomplished. "Sawyer goes with you tomorrow. All day. That's the only way I agree."

"Christian, you're being irrational."

"Irrational?" I ask. "Either he goes with you or alert the presses, we have a hostage situation on our hands."

"Fine." She groans, but not in the way I like her groaning. "If it makes you happy—"

"It does!"

"—Sawyer can go with me."

"Thank you!" I realize I'm thanking her for approving my command. Oh how times have changed. "Now, would you like a tour?"

"A tour? Of what?"

"This place."

"What haven't I seen?"

"The TV room, the gym, the wine cellar..."

"You're not going to lock me in the wine cellar are you?"

"Anastasia, really. Do you think so little of me?" She squints her eyes, suspicious. "If I was going to lock you up, I have a dungeon for that." I wink.

She frowns at me. Fuck, bad joke.

"I'm kidding," I say. "You're free to move about the apartment."

"Just not the city."

"Exactly, but I want you to know where everything is here."

"Okay," she says, taking the hand I've held out for her, and I squeeze it.

"I didn't mean to frighten you before," I say as I lead her from the bedroom.

"You didn't. I was just getting ready to run."

"Run?" I stop and gasp.

"I'm kidding," she laughs and shakes that beautiful, disobedient head of hers.

"Mrs. Jones and Taylor have their own wing?" she asks as we pass by the area. I point to it, but there's no way in hell I'm giving her a tour of that. He's likely to be in his silk pajama bottoms, bare chested, admiring his muscles while he cleans his guns. It's Sunday night after all.

"Wow, this is a very advanced system," Ana says, eyeing the command center upstairs. "Leila got past all of this?" She points to the television screens monitoring every situation inside and out of the apartment.

"I don't know how. I guess she knew the ins and outs of this place too well."

"Oh," Ana says and dips her head.

"That's why I want you to know this place better," I say, tilting her chin up with my free hand. "She never had access to all this. She must've observed where the cameras were placed and where the entrances and exits are. She knew far more than I thought she did, though."

"That's frightening," she says.

"I won't let anything happen to you." I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it, before continuing the tour.

"I didn't know you watched a lot of TV," she says as we walk into the entertainment Room. The full-sized movie screen is down and freshly popped popcorn spills over in bowls. Even new pillows and throws meant for film watching cuddle time have been tossed around. I have to laugh to myself. Taylor and Gail have been playing Cupid again. And after all I've done under this roof with women, they're sneakily encouraging a hard night of cuddling.

"I don't watch TV. Other than news and the markets," I say.

"Movies?" She points to the screen. That thing is impressive, if I do say so myself.

"No. Why would I?"

"Why would you watch movies?"

"Exactly. If I want drama, I'll look in the mirror, if I want to laugh I'll look at Elliot, and if I want an historical piece I'll look at Elena." Even Ana had to laugh at that one.

"Did you watch them in here with your subs?" she asks motioning to the sofa with the cuddling equipment.

"No, never. I rarely come in here."

"You said that about the library, too." She looks up at me. "You know you have amazing rooms you've never bothered to live in, Mr. Grey."

"I think you may be onto something, Miss Steele," I say and she smiles.

"Is this where the X-box is?" she asks.

"Actually, yes. Elliot plays that shit, though. That was pretty funny when you thought this room was my playroom that first night." I laugh.

"I'm glad you find me amusing, Mr. Grey."

"That you are, Miss Steele. When you're not exasperating."

"I'm exasperating?" she asks and I nod, but light heartedly. We are just teasing, right? Sometimes our talk goes from funny ha-ha, to funny peculiar, to funny my balls didn't see that kick coming in record time. "I'm only exasperating when you're unreasonable."

"Me? Unreasonable?" I feign offense.

"Yes. It could be your middle name."

"I don't have a middle name."

"Well, then that one will suit you."

"I'll file a name change application."

"Wait, I thought Trevelyan was your middle name."

"Last name. Trevelyan-Grey."

"You have a hyphenated last name?" she asks. Why does she look so damn delighted?

"Yeah. So?"

"Nothing. It's just, that's so modern and open minded."

"Well, I'm modern and open minded," I say and she bursts into a fit of giggles. "What?"

"I don't know why, but you're very cute right now," she says.

"I am?" I ask and she nods. "Thank you, I think."

"Do all three of you kids have a hyphenated name?" she asks.

"Yes."

"And none of you use it?"

"It's too fucking long. Modern thinking lost out to good old fashioned practicality the first day of school. Now, it's just for documentation purposes."

"So, the evidence of your modernization is still listed on your passport."

"Yes," I say and she giggles again and I can't help but smile along. She makes me forget things, and that's perhaps her greatest gift to me.

"Don't you get any cute ideas about passing down any Steele-Grey hyphen mergers," I say. "It'll only be Grey for our—" I stop myself before the letter _k,_ followed by an equally perplexing and troubling _ids_, spills from my mouth.

"What do you mean?" She stops laughing. "Our what?"

"I don't know." And funny ha-ha turned peculiar turned I need to get the fuck out of here before I completely hand her my balls. "I'm a hopeless joke teller."

"I think you're getting better."

"Maybe." I take her hand again. "Come."

"And of course you've been in here," I say as we enter the library. But, to my surprise Anastasia doesn't run to the books, but rather runs her hands on the baize of the billiard table.

"Should we play?" she asks.

"Okay," I say, warily watching her interest in the table. "Have you played before?"

"A time of two." She fights a smirk by chewing on her lip. What's this?

"You're a terrible liar. Either you have or you haven't."

"Frightened of a little competition?" she asks, turning back to me, her ass pressed into the table wood. I wish it was pressed against mine.

"Frightened of a little girl? No," I tease.

"A wager, perhaps?" she asks, looking up at me all lashes and lips.

"You're confident, Miss Steele," I say, moving to her, my fingers brushing on top of hers as her hand rests on the edge of the pool table, next to that ass. "What would you like to wager?"

"If I win," she says and looks me straight in the eyes, with raw fire behind her gaze. "You have to take me back to your playroom."

I swallow. More like gulp. Did she just say? What the hell? How am I supposed to answer that? Although there is a part of my that's igniting from her words, namely my cock, there is a bigger part—yes, even bigger than my cock—that remembers her tear stained face that last day, my empty bed, and those six days of darkness.

No, we're never going back.

"And if I win?" I ask, my spine straightening with resolve for victory.

"It's your choice," she says. My choice... A multitude of ideas run through my mind.

"Then let's play." I move to the closet where I keep the game equipment. "Do you have a preference?" She scrunches her nose, confused. "Pool, English snooker, or carom billiards?" Good she's looking at me like I'm speaking Mandarin. I can win this.

"Pool. I don't know the others," she says.

"Very well." I pull out the leather case of balls and set them up quickly on baize, and then we chalk our cues. I watch her. All this rubbing of the tip she's doing is causing me to have to adjust my own.

"Would you like to break?" I ask, sizing her up. She's bluffing about playing. Ana doesn't strike me as the type of girl who would've frequented pool halls. Unless Kate took her there. I clench my fists just imagining her hanging around sweaty beer drunk men with big sticks, knocking their balls.

"Okay," she says as she blows the excess dust off her tip, then leans over the table with her ass swishing in the air and strikes the balls with such force they all scatter in the explosion, and one slips into a pocket.

"I choose stripes," she says, looking up at me through her lashes and then slides up off the table to upright again.

Hell.

"Be my guest," I smile.

What happens next feels like an out of body experience. I bear witness to Anastasia leaning and stretching over the baize, shifting and wiggling and hitting ball after ball into the pockets. She does know how to play, and she knows how to play well. On all levels.

She's about to hit another one, and I'm sure I'm going to be forced to take her back there to play before I even get the chance right here to play, but she narrowly misses. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"You know I could watch you do this all night," I say, and then move closer to her, leaning over to stroke her denim clad ass. She looks back at me, a blush set in her cheeks. God, she's hot...

And hopefully distracted. I can't let her win this. If I must use my sex appeal to fuck with her game, then so be it.

Slowly, I pull my sweater over my head, flexing my muscles as best I can, allowing my t-shirt beneath to lift and expose my abs as I toss the cable knit onto a chair. She's watching me and I think she likes what she sees. Good.

I take my cue, lean over the table and notice that she hasn't taken her eyes off my ass. This pleases me immensely, but it quite literally backfires. As I go to take my shot, all I can think of is her eyes on my ass and I miss my fucking shot!

"An elementary mistake, Mr. Grey?" She teases as I peel myself away from the table. What a mind fuck!

"I am but a mere mortal," I say. "Your turn I believe." I wave at the table.

"You aren't trying to lose, are you?"

"Oh no, for what I have in mind for the prize, I want to win. Trust me." I shrug. "But, then again, I always want to win."

She now removes her sweater and circles the table. What is this—strip pool? Her blouse is low cut, showing cleavage I want to run my tongue down. Those buttons are just itching for my teeth to pull on them, popping them off one by one, then ripping the lace of her bra until her nipples are in my mouth. She looks over, watching me watch her, and bites her lip. She's not playing fair.

"I know what you're doing," I say.

"I'm just deciding where to put my ball," she says, then after more lip biting theatrics and a few ass thrusts, she slams an orange stripe into her desired position. I can't help but think of hitting one in a desired position of my own.

She then stands, ass directly in front of me, and lines up her next shot. She wiggles and swooshes that tight derrière against my groin. Fuck. I inhale sharply, and the act of me doing this causes her to stop, take a breath of her own and reset, but when she shoots this time, she misses.

I do have an effect of her...

"That's a shame," I say. "So close, yet so damn far." I place my hand on her ass and rub it, torturously knowing how close yet so far beneath her denim the flesh of that bottom is. "Are you waving this around purposely and taunting me?" I give her smack, even through the fabric it's so good.

"Yes," she answers. Wow. Surprisingly truthful.

"Be careful what you wish for, baby." I bend over and nail the red into the bottom right side pocket.

"You look hot like that," she says, eyeing my ass in the air. This flusters me, which causes me to miss.

Damn.

"Red room here I come," she says and for a moment I think I've been transported to an alternate universe. I'm actually actively competing against this? Maybe I wasn't thinking that, maybe it was my dick. Hard to tell.

She hits a green stripe and then an orange into their pockets and I'm floored. She really does know this game. And it's not from sitting on the sidelines, observing. She's well practiced. Who taught her all this? I'm hoping it was Ray, but I'm fearing it was one of the three Ana lusting amigos—Paul, Ethan or the fucking photographer. Maybe I should have Taylor secretly dispose of their balls and pool sticks.

"Name your pocket," I say with dark carnal intent. I bring a finger to my lips and slide it across the bottom one. She watching... Good.

"Top left," she says, and then distractedly hits it, the ball spinning out across the table. I love that I'm getting to her like this.

"Your turn," she says, and I nod and bend myself over the baize, eyeing my pocket, but noticing my Ana watching my ass again. But, this time it doesn't frazzle me; I use it for power.

I stand and chalk my cue, blowing the extra dust away, purposely in the same way I blow on her clit during oral sex that drives her fucking mad. I look over and I know she's thinking it, too.

"If I win," I say, my eyes firing into hers. "I'm going to spank, then fuck you over this billiard table. Hard."

She audibly gasps, but the blush across her cheeks and the heave of her chest tells me adrenaline is pumping through her body.

This is going to be fun.

"Top right," I say, and with panther like grace I fold myself over and take my shot.

And I don't miss.


	39. Chapter 39

_**Again, thank you for being so patient and for your support! Your comments and votes mean so much to me. There will be more soon. I'm also updating the other story shortly. Babies will be coming, so stay tuned. And I'm getting excited to write the whole Leila situation with this one! xox**_

_**Happy Birthday, Ana! **_

"You're not going to be a sore loser, are you?" I ask Ana, just after sinking my ball into the top right pocket. I lift myself from the table, fisting my cue as I stake it into the floor and mark my gaze on hers. Although that last shot was a nail biter, teetering on the knife edge of will it stay or will it go now before finally tipping in, I remained confident. Because once I set my eyes on a prize, I don't lose.

"Depends on how hard you spank me," she says, and the bubbling up in her voice, combined with the sharp inhale and exhale of breath tells me she's excited about the possibilities.

Oh baby, so am I.

I slink toward her and she watches me intently as I remove the cue from her hand and prop it with mine against the billiard table.

"Aren't we going to play out the game?" she asks, swallowing hard as my body shadows hers just close enough for her to feel my breath, my heat, the brush of my erection against her belly. But, I don't touch her yet. I intend to drive her mad.

"Oh yes, we're going to play." I step back a fraction and run my eyes up and down her frame. Every inch is perfection. Well, almost. True perfection is her naked.

She gasps as I hook her top shirt button— one of the quintuplet set mocking me as they vertically unify to keep her breasts shackled away— between the _v_ of my fingers, and pull her to me so she's flush against my body.

"Now then, let's review your misdemeanors, Miss Steele." I let go of her blouse and make use of my fingers for the count. "One, over-familiarity and lash batting theatrics with my staff."

"Lash batting theatrics?" She twists her face up at what she considers my audacity, but what I consider hers.

"I'm not finished." I hold up a second finger and she stares at them, a flush dusting her cheeks. What's she thinking? Oh, I know. I grin. Where she wants me to put these two fingers. I wiggle them a little, in a come hither/g-spot orgasm motion for her torturtured enjoyment. "Two, arguing with me about working. And three," I hold up a third finger, but now I look like I'm about to give a drunken Girl Scout salute and it's no longer sexy, in fact it's creepy, so I put my hand down. "You were taunting me with this..." I move my palm around back of her and squeeze her ass. And there was no squeeze of the Charmin ever so charmin'. Oh god, I'm glad I didn't say that one out loud.

Leaning down, I rub my nose against hers, teasing her as our lips barely brush. The sparks are enough to electrocute us both. Maybe that's why my hair feels on end, my brain frazzled, and my senses all mixed up in a tizzy ever since I met her. It's also why I feel my heart pumping and the blood coursing through my veins. It's why I feel so alive. She's literally electrified me.

"I want you to take off your jeans," I murmur against her parted mouth as I run my fingers slowly up and down the sides of her hips. "And this shirt..." I take hold of the material at her waist and untuck it from her pants.

"What about it?" She quivers as I lean in to kiss her neck. Moving my way down her throat, I lightly run my lips over every inch of her, until my tongue finds the soft skin just above her cleavage.

"It's covering entirely too much," I say, then I do what I fantasized about before. I take the delicate top button of her blouse between my teeth, and in one swift, animalistic move rip it off and spit it to the floor. Three bounces on the wood later, it disappears into the area rug and there's silence as if it never existed at all.

"That was a new shirt," she says, sharply inhaling, causing the fabric where the button vacated to part and expose to me the lace of her bra.

Fuck, she's glorious.

I nuzzle her in the valley between her breasts, inhaling her intoxicating scent, and she tilts her head back and groans. Her peaks are pushing forcefully against the lace, hard and needy. I know she wants more, but she has to wait. And as I pull my face away and deny her, she huffs her discontent.

"We'll have to go shopping now, won't we?" I say, running my finger down the center of her chest at the part of her blouse. "We can add this to the list of destroyed panties you've accumulated that must be replaced." Caroline Acton will surely get an eyeful with that order. I can't help it, Ana just makes me want to rip through cock blocking fabrics.

"Such a waste," she pants as my finger traces the lace edge of her right bra cup. I'm contemplating destroying this, too. But, her nipples are like bullets right now, so perhaps they'll shoot through and do it for me.

"They served their purpose." I draw my finger down the front of the cup. Our eyes are locked, dark and libidinous, as I slowly circle her areola. With every rotation I move closer to the center. But, just before I touch her nipple, I deny her again, pivoting on heel to walk to the door.

"What are you doing?" she asks, breathless. But, my only answer is the sharp turn of the lock.

"Clothes, Anastasia," I say as I turn to face her again, and I mean business.

"What about them?" Her chest heaves.

"You appear to be wearing them, still." I slink toward her, and then lean in to whisper in her ear. "Take them off—or I will take them off for you."

"You do it," she says, and shivers when my fingertips lightly run up and down her arms.

"It's a dirty job, but as they say, someone's gotta do it." I cup her chin and tilt it up so our eyes meet. "And that someone is only ever going to be me."

"Yes," she breathes.

I step back, a smile twitching on my lips. She agreed and she wants this. And though it was probably just a yes born in the heat of the moment, I'd like to believe she just agreed to forever.

"We could add that to your list of infractions," I say, bringing a finger to my lips. She watches as I run it back and forth over my slightly parted mouth. "Not obeying instruction."

"It sounds like I'm in for it."

"Oh Miss Steele, you have no idea."

"Good thing I haven't lost yet." She gnaws her lip, and watches me as I move with calculated intent to the desk and dig around in the drawer to find the two things any good schoolboy needs—condoms and a trusty twelve inch Perspex ruler.

I put the condom—or better known as the pole-side strangler— into my pocket and turn again to her with the ruler. My eyes trained on hers, I run it back and forth over my open palm, and then without warning I smack it down. She jumps, but if the pink in her cheeks is anywhere near the color her ass will be, this will be unfuckingbelievable for us both.

"Are you measuring something with that?" she asks and raises a brow.

I grin as I slip the ruler into my back pocket, and not taking my eyes off of hers, I move to my naughty little minx.

"I want to make sure I hit all my angles precisely," I say, and lean down as if I'm going to kiss her—her mouth open and wet and quivering for mine—but I surprise her when I slide my hands down the sides of her body and drop to my knees, instead. This is a rare position for me, and it's only happened before when my subs were tied up and their roles solidified. When they knew their place in my world. But, Ana has no place in mine—she's the whole damn thing. And the king who bows for no one, bows for her.

The only thing that threatens to deflate my parade balloon is staring up at me—those fucking Converse shoes. They're the footwear version of that death trap dung beetle, Wanda. I make quick work of untying the laces and slip them off just as fast. As I toss them away I'm secretly hoping she'll forget them and they'll be somehow "lost" in the area rug like that button. That way we can add them, too, to the list of re-purchase items. But, this time she won't buy Chucks, she'll buy Gucci.

Now that the offending shoes and socks are gone, and I can see her pretty suckable toes again, I slide my hands up her hips and around her waist to find the button holding the denim together just below her navel. I unfasten it, then slide the zipper down so her panties show through. Tucking my hands inside the back of her jeans, I push them off her ass—kneading and squeezing her flesh as I go—and slide them down her legs, all the while running my nose over her panty covered sex. I can smell her arousal that's seeping through the lace. God, I want to taste her. So, I brush my lips over her wetness, and let the dew coat them. And when I lick my lips it's honey.

"I want to be quite rough with you," I say, looking up at her. "You'll have to tell me to stop if it gets to be too much." I nuzzle the place that most gives her pleasure and she shakes with satisfaction and frustration all at once.

"Safe word?" she asks.

"No, no safe word," I say. I don't want this to feel anything like a scene. "I'm not an animal, Anastasia. You just tell me to stop and I'll stop. Understand?"

"I understand," she says, but her tone is somewhat quizzical.

"You've been dropping hints all day," I say. "It's been confusing, but I have to say it's also been hot as all hell that you want something like this." She brushes a lock of hair off my brow, just watching me. "And you said you thought I was losing my edge..." I pull back just enough to look up and gauge her reaction. "Ana, I know you said you want to go back... But, I don't want to go back in my playroom. I just... I want to try and see if some of this could work out here. In our real life. I want to share things with you that I know, but I want to make sure you're okay. And if you don't like it for any reason—"

She puts a finger to my lips to quiet my word clutter, and softly smiles. "I'll tell you. No safe words. Just you and me and no and yes."

"We're lovers, Ana." I lean up and kiss her navel, then rest my forehead against her belly. "Lovers don't need safe words." I look up at her, searching. "Do they?"

"I guess not..." she shrugs.

She doesn't know, either. It's astounding that although we're on polar opposites of the spectrum when it comes to sexual experience, in terms of relationships we're exactly at the same place.

"I'll tell you," she says, stroking my cheek. "I promise." I nod, and although there is no contract or written terms, there is an unspoken trust and respect... And love. And I'm discovering that perhaps that binds more secure than any ink marked paper filed away in a cabinet.

"Your blouse, Miss Steele," I say, as I hold to her hips and slink my way up her body to standing. I unbutton her one-by-one, my eyes feasting on each curve and nuance, until the shirt blows open; the fabric draping just over her breasts and billowing with each breath she takes. God, is she sexy. I reach over and touch her taut belly, sliding my hand over her flesh until my arm is wrapped around her back. Sharply, I pull her close, and she gasps.

"Your game, Miss Steele." I let her go just as quickly, leaving her to teeter and catch herself against the side of the table. She's breathless and wanting.

Good girl.

I lean over, pick up her cue and hand it to her. "You do play well. I have to say, I'm surprised."

"Why are you surprised?" She takes it from me and begins to chalk it up.

"I didn't expect that anyone else had taught you such things." I raise a brow. It better not have been that fucking photographer. I need to find out. Because if it's anyone other than Ray or her seventy-nine year old great aunt, I'll play my own game of pool and heads are going to roll into dirt holes.

"Maybe I taught myself," she smirks.

"Well then, why don't you sink the black?" Although, I could've just said why don't you deep-throat my cock, instead.

She raises a defiant brow and turns to face her game. Holding her cue like a pro, she bends over the table, sizing up her shot, all the while making sure I see each wag and wiggle of that tight ass that's now just in those barely-there panties.

I decide to play with her a bit, as I can't resist. I move behind her and casually run my fingertips down her leg and up again. Well, as casually as one can with an erection stabbing against his zipper.

"I'm going to miss if you keep doing that," she says, but her legs part a fraction wider as my fingers run up her inner thighs.

Oh Miss Steele, you naughty girl.

"I don't care if you hit or miss," I whisper in her ear and then give her a smack on the ass. She jumps, pushing back into my cock, and although it's a bit painful, it hurts so damn good. "I've wanted to see you like this—barely dressed and bent over across my pool table. Do you have any idea how hot you look?" I run my hand along her thong back and then snap it against her ass. "I am going to fuck you so hard."

She gasps, and though she tries to line up her shot, me stroking her derrière is definitely distracting her.

"Top left," she murmurs, and as she strikes the ball I smack her bottom. She yelps and her cue slips, causing the balls to sputter and bounce off the cushion of the pocket.

"I think you need to try that again," I say, continuing my rhythmic stroking before the striking. "You really should work on your concentration skills, Anastasia."

She looks back at me and sneers, but her continual wiggling encourages me to up my own game.

I let go of her and move to the other end of the table to set the black ball up for her again. Her eyes are glued on me as I lean over the baize, and with measure, roll the white into her waiting hand.

"No, not yet," I say as she lines her shot up. She halts and watches as I return to my place at her behind. I run my hand up and down her inner thigh again, this time purposely brushing the panty edge of her sex every time I reach the top. "Take aim, and concentrate, Anastasia." My finger lightly brushes her clit, and she pushes back against me.

"That won't get you anywhere," I whisper, tugging on her earlobe with my teeth, and all the while continuing the work of my hands.

She exhales sharply as she steadies herself, attempting to regain composure. But, just as she's caught her bearings and moves to strike, I slap her ass again.

"Christian!" she scolds, but her protests are weak beneath her heavy pants.

"Try one more time, baby." I run my mouth along her ear. "But, if you miss again, I'm really going to let you have it." I nip.

I move to set up the ball again and slowly return to her backside the same. She's a mess, in the best possible sense. I don't even know how she's standing upright at all.

"You can do this," I say and then give her a light slap. She gasps and bucks. "Eager, Miss Steele?"

"Eager to win," she pants.

"Well then, let's get rid of these," I say, looping my fingers in the sides of her panties. "They may be a distraction." I slide them down her thighs, so slowly, until they tangle at her feet. Her wet panties shackling her ankles is the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen. If she was wearing Louboutins I'd be dead.

"Maybe you're right, Mr. Grey." She kicks them away and I scrunch them in my fist and bring them to my nose to inhale. Her musky want mixed with the scent of jasmine and some crisp detergent that I need to make sure Gail stock piles enough of to see us through a hundred year war have sent my senses into a tailspin.

"Take a shot, baby," I say as I toss her panties onto the nearest chair. Flustered, she shakes her head and then readies for her shot, steeling her body in preparation for my next blow. But this time, as she pulls her cue back to strike, I take my hands completely off of her. It's enough to unsteady her and we both watch her chance for a win roll away.

I grab the stick from her hand and discard it, then bend my body over hers, spreading it across the table with my weight.

"You missed," I whisper, her cheek pressing into the baize. "Put your hands flat onto the table."

She does as she's told, remarkably. She wants this as badly as I do. My cock twitches, as does my palm.

"Good girl." I lift myself up. "I'm going to spank you now, so maybe next time you won't miss." I caress her ass.

"Open your legs," I say, but she doesn't move. I pull the ruler out from my back pocket and smack her with it. "Legs." I strike her again and she parts them quickly, agreeably. Sliding my fingers down to her slit, I check for the desired effect. Oh yes, she's dripping for me.

I crack the ruler against the meaty flesh of her ass and she jumps, but doesn't protest. The sound causes a buzz in me, much like a tumbler of good whiskey would, but so much more delicious. I massage her flesh, admiring the pink of her skin, and calm the sting with a gentle palm before I strike down again. I repeat this process over and over. She's wriggling and moaning, and her arousal has now wetted her thighs. She's driving me fucking insane, and as if in some carnally driven trance, I'm lost in it all. I raise my arm high and bring down a blow harder than the others.

"Stop," she says. Without a second's hesitation, I release the ruler from my hand and it drops to the floor. It too crashes against the wood and then silences there.

Fuck, did I go too far?

"Enough?" I pant.

"Yes," she says.

"I want to fuck you now."

"Yes!" she cries out.

Oh, thank God!

I grab the condom from my pocket and rid myself of my pants, fumbling to fix it on my length just before I return to her. Her glistening sex is high in the air, and her pinked cheeks are bucking and shimmying.

Damn.

I slide my two fingers along her slit, coating them with her wetness and playing with her there. She mewls like a kitten as I circle her clit, then gasps when I, without warning, thrust them inside of her.

"Is this what you wanted?" I ask, rolling my fingers around her walls.

"No," she whimpers and I stop, fingers stilled in her depths. Fuck, did I do something wrong?

"No?" I ask.

"I want you inside of me," she says.

She doesn't have to asks me twice.

I pull my fingers out and guide myself to her opening, running my tip up and down her slit, until I slam into her all at once. I keep still inside of her for a few moments as she adjusts to my girth, then repeat. Fuck, she feels incredible, even with this sack over my cock.

"Again?" I ask. I don't want to push my luck, but I so need to push something else.

"Oh god, yes," she breathes. "Don't stop. Lose yourself... Take me with you."

Oh Ana.

I close my eyes, feeling her warmth and wetness cradling me, savoring this closeness. Then, I take a breath and start to unleash on her. I pound her again and again, slamming into her depths. This isn't tender lovemaking, nor is it akin to the cold hard fucking I've done my entire life. It's something in between. And like all the in betweens with Ana, it's fucking incredible.

"Oh god." She clenches around me as my body slams into hers, merciless and merciful all at once. I can feel that's she's close, so I take hold of her hips to steady her as I start to bring her home.

"Christian," she cries out, her nails digging in and scratching down on the baize.

"Come for me. Ana." I pound her into heavenly oblivion.

"Yes," she screams. I reach around and rub her clit while I fuck her harder and more passionately than even I thought was possible, and she explodes around me.

"Ana," I cry out, the intensity of her pleasure bringing mine to new heights as I pour myself inside of her. We both collapse, unable and unwilling to move for minutes, hours, who knows... For, we both know that when we do this moment will be over.

"Thank you so much, baby," I breathe as I finally pull her up and we sink to the floor, tangled in our post orgasmic bliss.

"You mean for letting you win?" she laughs.

I smile. She liked it. "And, I sure did." I kiss her head. "Are you okay?"

"More than okay." She sighs, contented, then tips her head back against my shoulder.

"Your cheek is pink from the baize," I say, as I stroke it, then tip her chin up so our eyes meet. "Be completely honest with me. How was it?"

"Teeth-clenchingly good," she says, and the grin on her face puts one on my own. "I like it rough. And I like it gentle. I like it when it's with you."

With me... My heart stills.

"Better be with me," I say, attempting to gain my composure before I turn into a melted heap of mush. I'm not sure it's working.

"Do you think I could do any of this with anyone else?" she asks.

"No. But, primarily because they'd be dead first." I kiss her nose.

"I'm serious."

"As am I, Miss Steele."

She twists around in my arms and giggles into my neck, and I'm lost in it all. Cuddling and holding each other after something like that is the strangest, and absolute best feeling in the universe. Next to everything else she makes me feel. Everything is always more.

"Well, you don't have to go to prison for murder, because I only ever want to share this with you," she says.

"Me, too." I kiss her hair. "But, I wouldn't go to jail. What do you think I have Taylor for?" I raise a brow and she laughs. She thinks I'm joking. We'll leave it at that.

"You never fail, Ana." I wrap my arms around her snugly and press my cheek to hers. "You are beautiful, challenging, smart, witty... And I thank God every day it was you who came to interview me and not Katherine Kavanagh."

"Oh no," she gasps.

"What?" Oh hell, has she changed her mind? Is she regretting the interview? Or tonight? Has Katherine Kavanagh put something in her brain that she's just now remembered because I mentioned her name? Damn you, Kavanagh!

"I just thought about if Kate hadn't been sick... what if she were with you right now—"

"Don't even go there," I say as a shiver of cringe rolls up my spine, and she laughs. "Come, let's have a bath."

#######

"What kind of bubble bath did you use?" Ana asks with a giggle as we sit facing each other in my bathtub, lost in a sea of neon pink froth and foam. Okay, maybe I did go a little overboard with the suds, but I never expected _Midnight_ _Strawberry Romance_ to look like a nuclear charged cotton candy machine exploded all over the water.

"It was one of the ones they gave us in our basket at the hotel," I say.

"You used the special bubble bath?" She looks like I told her I played Greek wedding with my grandmother's gold plated heirloom china.

"Well, yes," I say. "There are like seventeen of them, and tonight felt special, so I used a bottle."

"What's the occasion?" she asks, blushing nearly the color of the water.

"You're here with me. Isn't that occasion enough?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey. It is." She smiles, as do I.

"Wait, you said you used a bottle," she says and I nod. "You mean like the whole thing?"

"I thought it was a single service deal," I say. She bursts out laughing at me and the output of air from her amusement sends radioactive suds my way. "Well, how would I know? I've never set up a bubble situation before."

"A bubble situation?"

"You know... Bath... Bubbles... Woman... That jasmine scented oil never froths up."

"You never did this with your subs—"

"Of course not," I say. "In fact, if any of them saw this set-up they'd call the police and file a missing persons report."

"But, you said you bathed them." She scrunches her nose like she's smelled the egg that Easter forgot and then remembered on Christmas again. The photographer fits that description.

"Yes, but nothing like this. It was quite antiseptic in nature."

"So you played doctor?" She raises a brow.

"No, no medical role play was never part of our repertoire." Hmmm... Playing doctor with Ana. She could be a nurse. A nurse with no panties, an indecently short skirt and a stethoscope I could tie her to the exam table with. I need to find a good medical supply website. "I told you, we never did anything like bubble baths. Nothing hearts and flowers."

"Nothing?"

"Only with you," I say and she smiles the way a shy school girl might when she's asked to go steady. It's wholesome and sweet, and though I've had many shy eyes look up at me through fanned lashes, they've never been hers. And, they've never made me shy all the same.

"What about Mrs. Rob—"

"Don't even say Elena, because there was more chance of lightning hitting us both in the basement on a light spring day than bubbles being part of any scenario." Hell, I think the only bubbles we had came from the froth of my mouth in that ball gag.

She leans back in the water, seemingly satisfied with her place as my suds queen, and I take her foot to massage it. She has the loveliest feet. Although they may look small and ladylike, they could give a swift kick to the balls. And they need a pedicure. I'll arrange one tomorrow.

"Can I ask you something?" Ana says, after a few moments of companionable silence.

"Anything," I say, as I rub her sole.

This is so nice.

"When I go to work tomorrow..."

This isn't so nice.

"What about it?"

"Please, let Sawyer leave me at the door and stand watch out front. I don't want to have to explain to everyone why I have a security guard right by my desk."

Definitely not nice at all.

"Ana, it's not safe."

"But, Jack's liable to fire me."

"Trust me, Jack Hyde will do no such thing. I own his ass—"

"Well first, he doesn't know that yet, and Christian, it's so embarrassing."

"Embarrassing?" I ask. "What's embarrassing about having security trail you all the time?" Sure, Taylor may look like a suited up gorilla, waving around his weaponry in search of his lost bananas, but that's part of his charm.

"I'm in an office building all day—with security," she says. "How would Leila possibly get up there?"

"How did she possibly climb a thirty story building from the outside and down again right here?"

"But Christian, if Sawyer is outside—"

"What about lunchtime? I don't want you scouring the city for subs!" She gives me a look and snorts a laugh. Bad choice of wordage. "I mean sandwiches. Lunch. But, it's not funny no matter what way you slice it."

"I prefer diagonal as opposed to straight across sliced sandwiches."

"Ana, be serious."

"Okay, I'm sorry." She picks at her thumbnail. "What if I made something from here, so I wouldn't have to go out..."

"Ana—"

"Please!"

I clench my teeth, but can't help softening when I look into those bright blue doe eyes. Hell, if we ever have a daughter and she looks at me like that, I'll find myself dressed like _Cinderella_ at a tea party and overrun by a petting zoo. What am I talking about—daughter?!

"You won't go out?" I ask.

"No, I promise!"

I scrunch my nose, and hem and haw so she won't think I'm a total pushover, and then exhale with frustration to dramatize the effect.

"Fine. To the door," I say. "And by door I mean his face pressed to the glass to watch you get into that elevator and remaining that way until you come out."

She jerks her foot away and splashes over to me in the bubbles.

"Ana, what are you doing?" I ask, as she takes my face with both her hands and covers my cheeks in feather-light kisses.

"Kissing you." She continues her assault, pink bubbles splashing my face and stinging my eyes. God, this is heaven. But, I fear this behavior may eventually brainwash me. Like Pavlov's dog, every time she asks me for something, I'll agree, conditioned for the sweet kisses that follow.

"I think you're a softy down deep," she says.

"Oh right, even after this evening?"

She leans in and surprises me with a slow, passionate kiss.

"Especially, so," she says as her lips pull away, and the way her gaze holds mine as she strokes my cheek stirs that fuzzy warm feeling in my chest that makes me think maybe she's right.

"How's your backside?" I ask as she finally rests down on my legs and I gently stroke her right bottom cheek. She's far too close to my dick for me to think straight and for it not to be straight.

"Sore. But, actually not too bad. The water is soothing."

"I'm glad you stopped me." I touch her lips with my fingertip and she kisses it.

"So is my backside." She grins.

"Well, how about some good, old fashioned, sweet vanilla?" I ask, my fingers brushing her face. And before my lips can find hers, she smiles, lifts herself up, and then holds the part of me I first introduced to her as my favorite, and slides down deliciously slow over my length.

#######

"I think you caught some sun today on the boat." I say as I dry Ana's dripping frame with a bath sheet. I didn't notice this before when I actually pinked her skin with my ruler. Odd.

"You did, too," she says, looking down at my hand that's rubbing her shoulder with the towel. She turns in my arms and examines me. "But, you only got it in splatters on your face, and your neck didn't get it at all—" She throws a hand over her mouth and then bursts out laughing.

"Miss Steele, there is nothing funny about potential skin cancer."

"You won't get skin cancer, unless it's from the radioactive dye..." She howls.

"What the—" I rush to look in the mirror. Oh hell—that fucking bubble bath stained us up like Easter eggs. I examine my face. There are more than a few spatters of color. "I look like I have the chicken pox."

She's really in hysterics now.

"And I smell like a strawberry popsicle," I say as I sniff my hand. The scent reminds me of elementary school summers laced with cough medicine.

"Speaking of popsicles," she laughs as she looks down at me, and my eyes follow. Oh hell—my fucking dick is neon pink!

"Are you laughing at me, Miss Steele?" I ask, putting on my best Dom face, although it's hard when I'm a living breathing Strawberry Shortcake doll.

"Yes, Mr. Grey," she says, wiggling her lips as she tries to remain serious.

"And is that polite?"

"No, Mr. Grey."

"Well, you know there's only one thing to do to stop that," I growl, lifting my hand, and her eyes grow wide.

"What's that?" she asks.

Without warning, I hoist her up over my shoulder, and she squeals.

"Shower time."

#######

"How's my face?" I ask as I walk into the bedroom where Ana's changing into her sleep attire. I hadn't scrubbed that hard since my volcano at the science fair exploded in the seventh grade.

"I think we were able to wash it all off," she says, her naked frame flawless cream again. She's stunning.

"Yes, and an hour in a steaming hot box seemed to help matters along."

"Yes, the shower worked."

"No, I was talking about the sex." I wink and she laughs, shaking her head at me.

"Don't you like the nightgowns Caroline Acton picked?" I ask as she throws on a GEH company picnic shirt circa 2009. I don't even think I attended that. Of course, I never do. If I wanted to watch a bunch of my hairy, fat employees getting sweaty and stuffing corn dogs into their pie holes in between sack races, I wouldn't. I'd shoot myself first.

"They're exquisite. But, I like your t-shirts better," she says as she bounces on the mattress and then shimmies her bare, silky legs under the covers on the side she's staked claim as her own. I used to spread across on that side, but not anymore. And I hope I never will again. Unless it's on top of her.

"They fit you well, Miss Steele," I say as I climb into bed next to her. Wow, this feels so normal. Normal and completely out of this world all at once. And I realize this is the first night since we've started again and we're now cohabitating in this room that we're sharing my bed—make that our bed.

I'm not sure exactly how to behave. I mean, we've already had sex like six times today, so we probably won't be doing that. Well, I'd be game, but she needs to rest herself for at least twenty minutes. Do we talk? Or do our own thing side by side? I'm trying think of examples in books or films of normal couples in bed, but the only thing I can think of besides sex scenes is the parents on _The Brady Bunch r_eading books and frisky talking at the end of episodes. Six fucking kids. I don't need that kind of negativity in my life.

"So what does Jack have planned for you at work tomorrow?" I ask, the name bitter on my tongue.

"He has some transcripts he wants me to read and make notes on." She yawns.

"I bet." Notes in his office with the door closed and drawn with his cock.

"Christian, it's fine. It's business. You are my only pleasure."

"Damn right." I give her a kiss. She yawns again and stretches and it's clear we won't be talking or reconnecting in any way tonight. But, I smile. She's here with me and that's everything.

"I have to work for a bit." I kiss her head as she snuggles up into a ball next to me. "I want to stay with you in bed. Do you mind if I use your laptop?" I look down and see she's already half asleep on my shoulder.

"It's not my laptop," she mumbles, and then she's out.

Tonight has been another night of firsts, and though all of it is special and exciting, I can't help but long for a day there are seconds and thirds and then too many to possibly count.

I pull the laptop from where she left it on my bedside table and set it on my lap. She's warm and sweet next to me and the scent of her is calming, but getting work done like I used to in the middle of the night could prove near impossible. So tonight, I begin to learn a new skill that I hope I will one day master—the fine art of typing softly with the love of one's life asleep on one's arm.

#######

Beyoncé wakes me. She's crazy. Crazy in love, but still. What is Beyoncé doing singing in my bedroom in the middle of the night? I squint my eyes open and sunlight blinds me. It's morning. How did that happen? Rivaling the blaring of the sun is my iPod alarm sounding next to me. I've set that thing every weeknight for as long as I can remember and have never used it. It became an OCD like tick to turn it off at whatever ungodly hour I would wake, and then I'd count the minutes of rest I had lost to my nightmares. Yet now, I'm wrapped around Ana, who's still out like a light, and I've slept sound. So blissfully sound. And dreamless. This should be a happy moment, except for one thing that gravely concerns me—why the hell was my iPod was set to that song?

"Why did the alarm go off so early?" Ana asks, stirring next to me. I shake my head of terrible thoughts. She's awake and here and safe... And mine. And, she's fussy. My sweet girl hates mornings. God, she's gorgeous with her hair a tangled mess and her eyes puffy with sleep.

"I have a morning meeting." I kiss her head and lean over to shut off that damn song. I'll mention my concern later to Taylor. Leila probably did it when she was here that night... Standing over Ana. I shake my head; I don't want to think about that right now as the light of my life lies curled up here, next to me.

"I still have another hour," she says and scrunches her face into my pillow as she turns toward me.

"You know, you could have all day to sleep if you should decide to stay home," I say as I kiss her neck.

"Only an hour!" she says. "I have to work for a living, remember." With this again.

"Okay. You go ahead and sleep." I kiss her head. "I'll wake you when I'm out of the shower." There's no response. My sleepy princess is down for the count again. Amazing how she can do that. Amazing that it's rubbing off on me.

I get up and head for the bathroom, but before I cross through the door, I turn back and look at her there. She's completely diagonal across the bed now, her hair cascading down my pillow. I look around at the room and see her things scattered here and there. I smell her shampoo and lotion. There is no trace of a Monday I have ever known.

It's a first. No, it's actually a second. She stayed over that Sunday night we had dinner with my parents and we spent Monday morning together before Georgia. And next week will be a third... I smile to myself. Before I know it, there will be too many of these Monday mornings to count.

And there's a skip in my step as I go to my shower.


	40. Chapter 40

**_You have no idea how much your interest in my stories means to me. Thank you, as always for your comments and favorites and follows. You are truly the best! Here's a long one for you. I was inspired to write more on this one. xox Ash_**

"No, not tuna fish," I say to Gail as we stand in the kitchen and I relay instructions for Ana's sack lunch today.

"Doesn't Miss Steele like tuna fish?" she asks.

"I'm sure there's an affinity, but there's entirely too much that can go wrong with fish on a day long journey."

"Is she going far, Mr. Grey?"

"Yes, two miles, a sidewalk ill paved for high heels and an elevator ride up to the office of a publishing predator," I grumble.

"Excuse me, Mr. Grey?" She looks puzzled. How is this possible after four years of employment to be puzzled by anything that comes out of my mouth? Of course, this is really all new for us both—she's never made a lunch bag for a girl before, and I've never made a sandwich.

"Aside from mercury levels and packing conditions, I'm not sure about the refrigeration situation at her office, and I'm not willing to bait the fates with mayonnaise and summer temperatures." I think for a moment. "No ham, poultry or soft cheese, either."

"Peanut butter and jelly?" she asks.

"Perfect."

She starts to busy herself as I thumb through the morning papers. _The Seattle Times _is such a disgrace these days, always kissing the mayor's ass. He's on the front cutting some ribbon at some mini-mall opening. What they don't show is his ass in the no-tell motel following it with a pay-by-the-hour blonde. Disgusting.

"Would you like an omelet and fruit this morning, Mr. Grey?" Gail asks.

"Yes, and Ana likes pancakes and bacon and her tea. You have enough of her tea don't you?" That fucker Franco must've drank a good three bags worth while he was here for her haircut. And don't even get me started on the sweeteners.

"Yes, Mr. Grey, it's just waiting to be served," she says with a knowing smile. What's this? What knowledge isn't she willing to share that she's so damned delighted about? "Is Miss Steele still sleeping?"

"Yes, and we need to keep our voices down." I take a seat at the breakfast bar with the morning news in hand. Some people prefer watching it, but I like to read it. Why would I want to hear some loud mouth idiot in a tasteless tie tell me it's going to rain? If I wanted that I'd invite Welch to breakfast. "She has ten more minutes before I'm set to wake her."

Her smile now has teeth.

"I was wondering," she says, in a soft, kindly and highly suspicious manner while pouring me a cup of coffee."It's purely for scheduling and procedure, so I can ensure your household runs efficiently, sir..." She pauses and looks at me for a moment, as if she's debating whether she should say what she's about to say or not. What the hell is she beating around the bush about? "Should I begin purchasing extra supplies, Mr. Grey?"

I lower my paper. "Like office products?"

"No. What I'm asking is..."

"Just spit it out."

"Will Miss Steele be joining you regularly for meals and weekday overnights?" She looks at me, hopeful.

Oh, I see now. Mrs. Jones, you sneaky cupid, you.

"Well," I clear my throat. "I think the most efficient thing, for procedural purposes, would be to assume _yes_, unless I inform you different."

That smile she's beaming my way could send E.T. home so fast he wouldn't have a chance to phone first. Since when is she so invested in my private life? Well, I guess she does manage it.

I hold the paper up again, but I can't concentrate because I can feel her eyes searing into me through the newsprint.

"Mr. Grey, if you don't mind me saying so..."

"Yes?" I flip the paper down.

"She's a lovely girl. And you two look handsome together."

"We do?" I drop the paper onto the breakfast bar. Fuck the mayor's ass kissing, I need to hear more of this. "I mean, I thought we took a good picture for the paper. We looked put together and quite smart." "Smart? You're an idiot, Grey. That makes us sound like we were wearing our favorite pocket protectors.

"I'd say you're one of the nicest looking couples I've seen. And she's a breath of fresh air around here." She grins.

I look back and around, making sure there's no trace of Ana or her highly tuned ears.

"Can I ask you something, Gail?" I whisper. "I need a woman's perspective, and you're like a woman. I mean, you are, but rest assured I've never thought of you that way."

She dips her head, trying to cover a smile and failing miserably, but quickly gains her composure again. "Anything, Mr. Grey."

"Speaking hypothetically, of course..."

"Of course."

"How soon would be too soon if a man was going to ask a woman to... you know... set up shop?"

"Excuse me?"

"Merge traffic and blend real estate. Meld."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Grey, I don't think I understand."

Do I have to spell it out for her in blood?

"Move in with him, okay," I say, in the octave of a boy entering puberty. "How long before it's appropriate?" We've been together for the better part of five weeks, that feels like enough to me.

Her jaw drops fractionally and her eyes light. "Mr. Grey are you asking because you and Miss Steele—"

"I'm asking for a friend," doth I protest too much. What the hell? Why did I use that as my defense? She knows I have no friends.

"Well... Normally, I'd tell any young couple to wait awhile, until they get to know each other better..."

"That's what I thought." My heart sinks into the pit of my gut. Walk before you run... Fucking Flynn.

"But, you and Miss Steele—"

"I didn't say it was me and Miss Steele. I told you, it's someone else I know—"

"Of course, Mr. Grey." She's trying to remain dutifully composed, but I see that pursed lip grin. "Well, I also believe that there are just some couples who instantly know that it's right. They don't need to wait, because they're that sure. Maybe it's because they've waited their whole lives to find one another that they know, because they've always known it hasn't been right with anyone else..." She gives me a pointed look. "It's rare, but it happens. And when it does, well, I say grab the bull by the horns and go for it, Mr. Grey."

Go for it... Maybe I should go to her instead of Flynn from now on.

"Yes,... Thank you, Gail." My heart's fluttering and the possibility of waking to Ana's hair in my nose and body in my arms every morning has a smile on my face and a skip in my proverbial and literal step. "I'll pass the word along... To my friend."

"Sounds good, Mr. Grey." She shakes her head and smiles as she readies Ana's teacup by her plate.

"Good morning," Ana says as she bounds toward the kitchen dressed to the nines in the outfit she laid out last night—white blouse, gray skirt, black Louboutins. It's like designer sunshine just spilled down from the heavens and filled the room.

Wow.

"I was going to wake you," I say as I stand from my stool and she moves to me. Why do I suddenly feel so nervous? She's far too beautiful for me. I look down at my shirt quickly to make sure I didn't spill anything embarrassing on it or put the buttons in the wrong holes. I think I'm good.

"I woke up and thought I'd shower and surprise you. I know you have an early meeting, but I hoped we could have breakfast together." She leans up and chastely kisses me.

"That sounds like the best idea I've heard." I kiss her again, deeper this time. Ana pulls back all shy and giggles into my neck, causing me to smile. Why's she so shy? Oh, she's embarrassed to be doing this in front of Gail, who's grinning at us like she's witnessing a live scene of her favorite soap opera couple.

"Gail, Ana needs to eat," I say. "You do the feeding, I'll do the watching."

"Of course," Gail says and she and Ana exchange a morning greeting before Gail scurries happily off to the stove.

"I can help you with breakfast," Ana says to her, but I take hold of Ana's hand and steer her to the stools, instead.

"No, she can handle it. I want you next to me." We sit and I don't let go of her hand.

"We won't be able to eat like this," Ana says with a giggle as she squeezes her fingers around mine.

"Food isn't here, yet." I bring her hand to my mouth and give it a kiss. She smiles and then crosses her legs, which in turn reveals the flesh of her thigh just above the lace top of her stockings.

Damn. No, make that fuck! She sits down at work!

"Don't cross your legs at the office," I blurt out, and she scrunches her nose at me, confused. I nod to her leg and she adjusts her skirt and rolls her eyes at me.

"You can leave it like that at home, though," I say, and nudge her skirt back up again, giving her a lascivious grin as I stroke her stocking clad knee.

"You know, Christian is an excellent pepper chopper," Ana says to Gail who is slicing up one for my eggs, and then delightedly leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

"He is?" Gail looks up. There's that goofy knowing smile of hers again.

"Yes, we made stir-fry together," Ana says.

"You're kidding me," Gail says and she stares ahead so surprised, I momentarily fear that I'll have to call the paramedics to resuscitate her.

"Yes, and now peppers everywhere fear me, as they should." I shake my head, and Ana leans into me and rests her head on my shoulder as she giggles.

Oh Ana, what you make me feel...

"Here you are," Mrs Jones says, sing-song, as she sets our breakfasts in front of us. She's never this cheery when it's just me. I notice she's set out these lacy placemats and matching napkins. She's even put fresh flowers at the end of the bar. I never have flowers in here. Too much mess and disappointment. Flowers, after all, always die on you, and in the end all you're left with is fallen petals and dirt, and a memory. Though, this morning I wonder if a handful of dirt and petals is better than nothing at all, especially when I have the memory of how they lit Anastasia's face when she saw them there.

"Thank you, Mrs. Jones, it's delicious," Ana says, nibbling a strip of bacon and stealing me from my deep morning thoughts. I'm mesmerized by her mouth. Her lips look extraordinary with a light coating of pork grease.

We enjoy our meal mostly in companionable silence—me reading the paper while I stroke her knee and her going over some notes for her day between bites. It's so comfortable and nice. In the past, not talking was a way of shutting a person out. But, this isn't that. The silence doesn't separate us, it connects us.

"Oh shoot," Ana says, putting her napkin down on the bar. "I almost forgot I have to make my lunch for today." She starts to get up, but I take her hand and pull her back down.

"I'll take care of it ma'am," Mrs Jones says, retrieving a jar of organic peanut butter out of the refrigerator. Although I like the idea of natural fare, I'm not sure about these so-called organic products or farms. I mean, do they test their nuts sufficiently?

"Please call me, Ana," she says to Gail.

"Alright, Ana," Mrs. Jones says and smiles. Again, with the over-familiarity with the staff. But, Gail is a woman, so I don't really care. If Taylor calls her Ana his left testicle will be bronzed on my desk as a reminder of what could happen to the other one if he does it again.

Speak of the devil. Taylor appears at the doorway out of nowhere, per usual, and nods his head. There's no demonstrative greeting between he and Ana. Good. Life is normal again; Taylor has no personality.

"I have to go, baby," I say to Ana and give her a quick kiss. "I'll have Taylor come back and drop you at work with Sawyer."

"Just to the door," she says as I get up to find my jacket and ready myself for the day.

"Yes, to the door." I shake my head, but I find that I'm also smiling. "I want you to be careful." I lean over to kiss her again and she nods.

"Have a good day at work, dear," she calls out as the elevator opens to take me away and I stop and turn back to her with a grin. Seeing her here as I leave for work produces a feeling in me that I never knew was possible. Domesticity, it turns out, is the biggest fucking turn-on.

That's it. I need her to move in with me.

#######

"Good morning, Mr. Grey," Andrea says, greeting me at my office door with a cup of what smells like piss, but I think is supposed to be coffee.

"Good morning, Andrea." I take the coffee and sip. Tastes like piss, too. But, I suppose it does the job. Although, this is the first Monday morning I don't feel I need coffee to do the job in forever. A good night's sleep does that to you. Oh, I wish I was still curled up with Ana.

"The gentlemen from GBA Tele-Global will be here in ten minutes," she says and I nod. We have to continue our discussions from last week, as I was too preoccupied with Anastasia's emails to get anything really accomplished. I'm in a much better mindset today, in spite of everything going on, so I'm going to nail this. I need to be on my best game because these fuckers drive a hard bargain.

"How was your weekend?" I ask.

"Excuse me, sir?" Andrea responds.

"Your weekend. How was it?" Why is she looking at me like I just propositioned her for a threesome with Welch over the donut table in the break room?

"Fine," she says, bewildered. "I'm sorry, you just took me off guard. You've never asked me about my weekend before."

"Just conversation." Of course, I've never made conversation with her before, either. Well, aside from asking her advice about flowers and finding out she gets around. What's wrong with you, Grey? Why are you being so friendly? I know, that skip in my step has made its way to my mouth and now it's running all over the place.

"How was yours?" she tentatively asks.

"The best damn weekend of my life." I smile, then throw the coffee in the trash can, head into my office and shut the door.

I have ten minutes. I could study up for my meeting. Practice my presentation. Watch the markets...

No, I think I'll email Ana.

"_Dear Ana_," I type. No, that sounds too pen-palish. Like I'm about to tell her how camp and my rock collection are. I can certainly say my rocks need getting off after seeing those stockings she was wearing this morning. She better not be crossing her legs right now.

"_Hello baby,_" I type again. No, that's creepy. Only a man who wears gold chains and colognes up his chest hair starts off emails like that.

"_Good morning, Miss Steele,_" I type. That sounds good, right? It's formal enough, but has that sexy edge to it that only the two of us will get.

"_I just wanted to say,_" I continue. What do I want to say? That I love her. That I want her. That her being with me, in spite of everything, means the absolute world.

"_I had an extraordinary weekend with you, apart from us having to go on the run temporarily,_" I type. No! Don't say that! I delete. Grey, whatever you do, don't quit your day job to write Hallmark cards.

I buzz Andrea. "If you wanted to thank someone special for a wonderful weekend what would you say?"

"Thank you for a wonderful weekend?" Andrea says.

"Perfect!" I hang up.

"_I just wanted to thank you for a wonderful weekend..."_ I type. "_Despite all the drama._" Yes that sounds right. Drama is good. I mean, not good, but it sounds exciting and passionate. Like we're in some wild romantic adventure together; the two of us against the world. Hey wait, we actually really are.

"_And just to remind you that the news of SIP is embargoed for four weeks," _I write._ "Delete this email as soon as you get it._"

I re-read what I've written. Aside from the drama line, it's nothing really. Just a kindly thank you and some business information.

Nothing.

My fingers are itching across the keys. There has to be more to say than this. Oh come on, Grey. You know the question you really want to ask.

"_Will you move in with me?_" I type fast and erase just as quickly. I repeat this process three times. I can't say that. It's too much and I might as well put a spotlight on the question standing out at the end like that.

Wait. Maybe if I'm not so obvious. If I tucked a more subtle line somewhere in the middle. Perhaps after the drama and before the business.

"_I hope you never leave_," I write just below the first line. That's good, but it's missing some impact. Punctuation. Something that says what this really means to me. I think for a moment and then type one final word, "_Ever_."

Andrea buzzes. "The gentlemen are waiting in the conference room."

"Good, tell them I'm on my way."

I sign it _your boss's boss's boss_ because I think it will make her laugh, and before I talk myself out of it, I hit send.

There, she'll get it when she arrives at her office and after my meeting I'll get my answer. I can hold out until then. I have to. Because, I can't spend another entire meeting with these men looking at my laptop screen and waiting for a ding in my inbox.

#######

Thirty-seven minutes later and endless talk about the fiber optics capabilities in third world nations, and there is still no ding in my inbox. Sawyer texted me that the drop-off went as planned and that his nose was pressed to the glass when she entered her elevator, so I know she's there safely. She should've been at her desk three minutes ago, yet I haven't heard anything. How long does it take to read four lines? Like thirty-five seconds, tops? That's two minutes and twenty-five seconds of thinking too much and talking yourself out of the rest of our lives.

"How would you feel about expanding the emphasis on communications even in severely impoverished, sparsely populated areas that don't demand high traffic configurations?" the man translating for the group from Seoul asks me.

"People should talk," I say bluntly, and a bit agitated, still staring at my laptop screen. "Communication is important. If people don't communicate properly, and quickly, then people think other people are ignoring them to avoid responding to a statement that the first person hoped was a real option for their future."

The room is silent for a moment.

"So, that's a yes?" he asks.

I hear a _ding_ and look down to see Ana's name pop up.

"Yes!" I say, and the translator—assuming that was a yes in response to his question—relays the information to the group. Oh, who cares. I agreed with that platform anyway. Just not so enthusiastically.

The email is entitled _Bossy_. Shit. What does that mean? Maybe she didn't get what I was saying. Oh wait, the boss's boss's boss joke. That's funny. I read:

_From: Anastasia Steele_

_Subject: Bossy_

_Date: June 13 2011: 09:03_

_To: Christian Grey_

_Dear Mr. Grey_

_Are you asking me to move in with you? And of course, I remembered that the evidence of your epic stalking capabilities is embargoed for another four weeks. Do I make a check out to Coping Together and send to your dad? Please don't delete this e-mail. Please respond to it._

_ILY xxx_

_Anastasia Steele_

_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_

She did get my inference! And she gave it top billing. Line one after the bossy business! But, she didn't say yes. She just asked for confirmation if that's what I was asking. Fuck. She's putting me on the spot and she's given me no inclination which way she's leaning. Should I just come out and say it? But, what if she says no? She did give me an ILY and three kisses. It's not a full I Love You, but according to the Millennial Texting Dictionary I just googled, we're practically married. Wait, are those kisses at the end or a pornographic triple x reference? The MTD has both definitions listed. Either way, I'll take that as a positive. But, why does she have to ask about writing that fucking check to my Dad?

"But, what if that means building new towers in places that have little need for communication to anyone outside their immediate community?" the translator asks me.

"I think when you know something is right, you just have to go for it," I say, never taking my eyes off my screen and her email. As he translates to the men, I take a deep breath and remember Gail's advice.

"Yes. Please," I type and send.

I'm now sitting through a power point presentation from a man who could very well be the head cheerleader for fiber optics, if there was such a thing. What an idiot. I don't even know what he's saying yet, and I know I don't like it. Perhaps I'm just agitated that he's so happy about his cables, while I'm miserable, as it's now been thirteen minutes of consistently refreshing my inbox and no word from Ana.

"It will connect people like never before," the translator babbles as he tries to keep up with the presenter. "Paving the way for a global socially driven network of information—"

"Isn't that the internet?" I snap and he stops talking. Damn it, Grey, stop letting your personal life affect business. "I'm sorry, continue."

The _ding_ happens again while the presenter rattles on, and my personal life says fuck you to business as I race to my inbox.

_From: Anastasia Steele_

_Subject: Flynnisms_

_Date: June 13 2011 09:20_

_To: Christian Grey_

_Christian_

_What happened to walking before we run?_

_Can we talk about this tonight, please?_

_I've been asked to go to a conference in New York on Thursday._

_It means an overnight stay on Wednesday._

_Just thought you should know._

_A x_

_Anastasia Steele_

_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_

"What the hell?" I say as I jump to standing, still staring at my computer as I fume. Asked to go to New York?! Fucking Jack Hyde. One week at work and he's already planning bogus overnights to get into her panties! I clench my fists hard at my sides.

"Are you not happy with our vision, Mr. Grey?" the translator asks, alarmed, as the other men whisper to each other. But, all I can think about is Jack Hyde being run down by my R8.

"No, I'm not happy. I'm not happy at all," I say as I grab my laptop and rush out of the conference room to my office.

"Something wrong, Mr. Grey?" Andrea asks as I whiz past her and slam my door. I immediately sit at my desk and open up the email again.

"Yes, let's talk this evening," I type, my bouncing knee repeatedly slamming into my desk. "Are you going on your own?" I can't wait to hear the answer to that one!

Send.

I watch the screen for a response. There's a commotion outside, but I still keep watch. I think the fiber optics group is questioning Andrea.

_Ding!_

_From: Anastasia Steele_

_Subject: No Bold Shouty Capitals on a Monday Morning!_

_Date: June 13 2011 09:30_

_To: Christian Grey_

_Can we talk about this tonight?_

_A x_

_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_

Ha! Shouty capitals? She didn't even answer my question, which has JACK THE RIPPER HYDE screaming all over it.

"Mr. Grey," Andrea buzzes.

"What?" I answer.

"The gentleman from the meeting are waiting outside here. They're concerned they've offended you in some way."

"I can't see them now. Reschedule for next week" I hang up.

"_You Haven't Seen Shouty Yet,_" I title my reply to Ana.

"_Tell me,_" I continue. "_If the answer is that sleazeball you work with, then no, over my dead body."_

Send.

Andrea buzzes again. "Mr. Grey, they're returning to Seoul tomorrow. They'd like to see you—"

"Not my problem." I hang up.

My Blackberry rings, and I race to answer it.

"There's no way in hell you're going on a trip with Jack Hyde," I say.

"Who's Jack Hyde?" asks the voice on the other end of the line that isn't Ana's. It's fucking Elena's. Why didn't I look at the caller ID?

"Elena," I say, trying to gain a bit of composure. "I thought you were somebody else."

"You sound upset. I hope it isn't to do with Anastasia."

"No, Ana is perfect." I refresh my inbox. Nothing. Fuck! "Elena, what the hell do you want?"

"Hey, simmer down," she says. "I don't think this time out of the playroom is serving you well. You're so on edge. Maybe you should talk to Anastasia about redefining your relationship."

"Elena, not that it's any of your fucking business, but my sex life is better than it's ever been. I'm just strung out about a business deal."

Refresh. Refresh. Nothing. Is Ana ignoring me?

"Well, good. I'm glad there isn't trouble in paradise."

"There's not. Why are you calling?"

"I'd like to invite you and Anastasia to dinner. Don't worry, I won't cook. I'll bring a chef in. Does Anastasia like Thai?"

I'm speechless for a moment. Did Taylor deliver me this morning to some alternate universe I wasn't aware of?

"Are you fucking insane?" I ask. "No. No dinner. She doesn't want to see you. And after the shit you pulled Saturday, I really don't blame her. I don't want to see you right now."

"Christian, I want to make peace," she says, sounding as if I've upset her on some level. Well, too fucking bad.

"By inviting her to the place that houses your dungeon?" I ask. "Maybe you can take us on a tour after dessert and she can see where you shackled me."

"Christian, honestly, if she's going to be in your life for any length of time we'll all have to get along..."

"Why?"

"Because I'm the person you're closest to," she says.

Closest to? Are we? I thought we were, but I'm not so sure anymore, since I've been closer to Ana than anyone and it feels so different. Elena's always been the one person in the world I could trust, until now. But, I've come to see recently that the glue of that trust is a shared secret that if named in public would shame us both. And shame is a powerful glue.

"Elena, just leave it be for now. Give it some breathing room. Ana and I love each other and we want this to work. We don't need outside interference—"

"Have you said that?" she asks.

"What?"

"That you love her."

I take a breath. "Yes."

"You said those words?"

"It's not your business."

"Of course not," she says. I can feel her circling. "But, I know you. Those are hard words to speak. I wouldn't fault you if she said them and all you could do was agree. Now, she would probably not be too happy about that in the long run, but she doesn't know the way you are."

The way I am...

_Ding_!

"I have to go." I hang up fast on Elena to get to Ana's email.

_From: Anastasia Steele_

_Subject: No YOU haven't seen shouty yet._

_Date: June 13 2011 09:46_

_To: Christian Grey_

_Yes. It is with Jack._

_I want to go. It's an exciting opportunity for me._

_And I have never been to New York._

_Don't get your knickers in a twist._

_Anastasia Steele_

_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_

My knickers in a twist?! She's never been to New York?! That's her fucking response? Damn, the sass from her. If I wasn't so mad, I'd be turned on. Who am I kidding, I still am.

"_Anastasia_," I write, though I wish I was scratching this response into Jack Hyde's eyeballs with a straight pin. "_It's not my fucking knickers I'm worried about. The answer is NO._"

Send.

_Ding_!

_From: Anastasia Steele_

_Subject: Fifty Shades_

_Date: June 13 2011 09:55_

_To: Christian Grey"_

_Christian_

_You need to get a grip._

_I am NOT going to sleep with Jack. _

_I LOVE you. That's what happens when people love each other._

_They TRUST each other._

_I don't think you are going to SLEEP WITH, SPANK, FUCK, or WHIP anyone else. I have FAITH and TRUST in you._

_Please extend the same COURTESY to me._

_Ana_

_Anastasia Steele_

_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_

Is she fucking crazy? She thinks that's what I'm worried about? That she wants to pursue Jack Hyde? How can she be so naïve? And even if he was an innocent church mouse, I don't want her seeing New York for the first time with anyone other than me.

Plus, she writes all that shit about spanking and whipping and fucking on a company email!

I'm fuming. I pick up my phone and dial Ana's work number.

"Jack Hyde's office, Ana Steele speaking," she answers.

"Will you please delete the last e-mail you sent me and try to be a little more circumspect in the language you use in your work e-mail? I told you, the system is monitored. I will endeavor to do some damage limitation from here."

I hang up. That told her. Wait, that's all I said?!

I buzz Andrea. "I need to speak with Barney." Andrea quickly hangs up and delivers him on line one.

"Barney, I need you to wipe all email communication between me and Anastasia Steele from the SIP server."

"Yes, sir."

"And I need to shut down all travel expenses for employees there. Everything. No planes, hotels, not even a bus ride can be paid for through that company for the foreseeable future, unless it's approved by higher management. Namely, me."

"Yes, Mr. Grey. Right away."

I hang up. I like him. He plays with computers, does as he's told, keeps to himself unless called upon, and is shady as fuck. Why can't all my employees be like that?

My Blackberry rings. I swear if it's Elena again! I look at the caller ID this time—it's Ana!

"What?" I answer with a snap.

"I'm going to New York whether you like it or not—"

"Oh, don't count on it—"

She hung up!

"Fuck!" I say as I stand and pull my hair. I think Andrea heard my outburst. I saw the shadow of her bun bob up fast through the frosted glass.

I need to talk to someone. I dial Flynn on my Blackberry.

"Christian, are you okay?" Flynn answers after I bark his name into the phone. "Is it Leila?"

"No. Nothing new there. Where are you?" I ask.

"At the Whole Foods. We're making a prima vera for the PTA potluck tonight." Well, that's fucking fabulous. While he's squeezing squash and tomatoes, my whole fucking life is falling apart. "What's wrong?"

"I'm having a nervous breakdown."

"Are you you breathing?" Him and his fucking relaxation exercises.

"Barely."

"Is it because of something with Anastasia?

"Yes." I run a hand through my hair. "She wants to go to New York on a business trip."

"That's why you're having a nervous breakdown?"

"Her boss wants to take her and he's practically a rapist," I say, as some woman offers Flynn a sample of quinoa pasta in the background.

"Christian, calm down you may be jumping to conclusions." I can hear the fucker chewing.

"No, I'm not. I know about this guy. She's not going."

"Did you tell her that?"

"Yes."

"And did she react negatively?"

"She called me, basically told me to fuck myself, and then hung up on me."

I can almost hear the smile spreading across his mug. He loves that she gives me shit.

"Christian, she's young and enterprising. She may be your girlfriend, but she's her own woman. And business trips do happen for professionals."

"I pay you for this shit?"

"Let's sit down and talk later," Flynn says. "Do you have time?"

"Three o'clock," I say and hang up.

_Ding_!

_From: Anastasia Steele_

_Subject: What have you done?_

_Date: June 13 2011 10:43_

_To: Christian Grey_

_Please tell me you won't interfere with my work._

_I really want to go to this conference._

_I shouldn't have to ask you._

_I have deleted the offending e-mail._

_Anastasia Steele_

_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_

"_I am just protecting what is mine,_" I pound the keys in response. "_The e-mail that you so rashly sent is wiped from the SIP server now, as are my e-mails to you_." I think for a moment. She thinks I don't trust her... "_Incidentally, I trust you implicitly. It's him I don't trust."_

Send.

_Ding!_

_From: Anastasia Steele_

_Subject: Grown Up_

_Date: June 13 2011 10:48_

_To: Christian Grey_

_Christian_

_I don't need protecting from my own boss._

_He may make a pass at me, but I would say no._

_You cannot interfere. It's wrong and controlling on so many levels._

_Anastasia Steele_

_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_

I can't stand this anymore!

"_Ana_," I type. "_I have seen how "effective" you are at fighting off unwanted attention. I remember that's how I had the pleasure of spending my first night with you. At least the photographer has feelings for you. The sleazeball, on the other hand, does not. He is a serial philanderer, and he will try to seduce you. Ask him what happened to his previous PA and the one before that." _

I think; my fingers tapping the keys without pressing down.

"_I don't want to fight about this,_" I continue. She wants to go to New York... I want to take her to New York. Visions of carriage rides and shopping sprees and Broadway shows with my girl on my arm dance in my head. _"If you want to go to New York, I'll take you. We can go this weekend. I have an apartment there." _

Send.

_Ding_!

I'm expecting her to let me have it, but I've got my gloves on. That reminds me, I need to have Andrea schedule an early morning session with Claude. I need to beat the shit out of someone.

_From: Anastasia Steele_

_Subject: FW Lunch date or Irritating Baggage_

_Date: June 13 2011 11:15_

_To: Christian Grey_

_Christian_

_While you have been busy interfering in my career and saving your ass from my careless missives, I received the following e-mail from Mrs. Lincoln. I really don't want to meet with her—even if I did, I am not allowed to leave this building. How she got hold of my e-mail address, I don't know. What would you suggest I do? Her e-mail is below:_

_Dear Anastasia, I would really like to have lunch with you. I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I'd like to make that right. Are you free sometime this week? Elena Lincoln_

_Anastasia Steele_

_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_

What the literal Fuck?!

What is Elena doing? How could she? I immediately shoot off another email to Ana.

"_Don't be mad at me,_" I write. It may be cowering, but it's true. I hate that she is. I'm Pavlov's dog again, but this time he's a scolded puppy who just wants to curl up in her lap and get out of the rain. "_I have your best interests at heart. If anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself._" I take a breath and close my eyes just thinking about the horrors of that possibility. And then I think about the horrors of another possibility. "_I'll deal with Mrs. Lincoln."_

Send.

I pick up my phone and dial her.

"Christian," Elena answers. "I think we were disconnected before."

"What the fuck kind of game are you playing?" I ask.

"I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't appreciate your tone."

"I'll tell you what I don't appreciate. You continually going behind my back."

"I don't know what you mean—"

"I tell you we won't have dinner with you and you immediately go to Anastasia and ask her to lunch?"

"Oh, she told you that."

"Yes, we tell each other everything. Did you think she would go with you and never tell me about it?"

"I don't know her well."

"Damn right, you don't. And you won't. Ever." My second _Ever_ of the day...

"I thought I could change her mind, then we could all be happy."

"This is lunacy."

"Christian, stop," she says. "I sent that before you and I talked. I changed my mind and thought dinner would be better than lunch."

"I see the time stamp, Elena." She's lying to me. I've caught her again. Has she always lied like this? And I can't help but flashback to a summer when I was fifteen and she taught me how to lie stone cold to my mother's face as to where I had been all afternoon. Of course, I had been with her.

"Perhaps it was delayed. Really, Christian. I just want to make friends. I don't know why she's so—"

"How did you get her email?"

"What?"

"You heard me. How do you know where she works?"

She's quiet for a second.

"She told me."

"Oh really, when? During your long conversation under the big top at my parents' party?"

"Yes. She mentioned her job. And you said something about her options before I encouraged you to see her in Georgia."

"Even if that's true, it's bizarre that you would write her." I rub my chin. "Did you want her to think I gave you her email address?"

"Are you accusing me of something?"

"Answer me."

"It's her name and the company email," she says. "You don't have to be a detective. I did it all for you. Everything I have ever done has been for you."

"Then, do something else... Stop contacting her!" I slam the phone down and fall back into my chair.

This morning was so good, this is definitely not how I expected the day to play out.

I have a conference call at fifteen past eleven. I sit through it, but Ros does most of the talking, as I don't have anything to add. All my thoughts are with Ana. Is she mad at me? Will she say no to moving in with me now? I'd all but forgotten I'd even asked her with this morning's mess. Is Jack Hyde weilding his power over her right now? Will he buy the tickets himself? And will she go?

"What the hell has gotten into you?" Ros asks after the others hang up. "I swear, if I wasn't here that deal would've blown up in your face."

"What's new today?" I mumble.

"Is something wrong?"

"I'm just not feeling well," I say. "Thanks for saving my ass." I hang up.

I'm about to pick up the phone and call her, when Sawyer calls me first.

"Sir, I just thought you should be aware, Miss Steele is purchasing a sandwich," Sawyer says.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Pastrami, I think. On rye. I see a slight yellow haze at the edge of the bread. So I think there's mustard."

"I don't care about the fucking sandwich," I say. "She left the office?"

"Yes. It was quick. I had to walk briskly, sir. But, she's safe."

What the hell? Is she doing this because she's mad? She had to have known Sawyer would follow her. She's purposely trying to piss me off! I feel so betrayed. She promised me...

"Keep an eye on her! If anything happens to her..."

"Yes, sir. Wait." He's quiet for a moment.

"What the hell is happening?"

"Confirmation, it is mustard, sir."

I hang up. Fuck, I really need to see my psychiatrist.

#######

"So, you forbid her from going on a business trip and you're wondering why she's upset with you," Flynn says from his seat of judgement in his office.

"This guy is a sleaze," I say, pacing on that eyesore rug of his again. "There's no way I'm going to allow her to be in that situation."

"Allow?" He crosses a leg and watches me.

"Yes, allow. It's the only way to ensure she doesn't get hurt."

"How does she respond to your _allowances_?"

"She purposely defies them. Do you know she went out and bought a sandwich today when I specifically told her not to?" There she was in the photos Sawyer sent me, walking along with a handful of pastrami and a heart full of betrayal.

"Perhaps she doesn't see it that way. Maybe she sees it as making her own decisions for her own life."

"I've agreed to her thinking for herself. But, how can I possibly protect her if she thinks for herself the wrong way?"

"Christian, you aren't her Dom. You can't forbid her from doing anything. In fact, by doing so, you may be pushing her further in the direction you don't want her to go."

I stop my pacing. Fuck, I'm pushing her toward a New York hotel room with Hyde? I gasp.

"What am I supposed to do, just stand by and let that savage beast do her harm?" God, I hate the color of these walls! He's just had them done. Who paints a fucking office for the mentally troubled brown? It's just another reminder life shits on them.

"No, but perhaps you could approach things differently. You ordering her not to do something is the old you," he says, propping his pen top to his chin in that arrogant way he does. "Validate her viewpoints and discuss the options together."

"There is no discussing this. Jack Hyde is bad news." I slam my hand against the mantle of his fireplace. Fuck, wood is hard.

"What else is bothering you?"

"Why do you think there's something else?" Why is my voice three octaves higher and sounds like I'm about to cry? Shit. I flex my hand. I think I broke a palm bone with that last move.

"I've gotten to know you pretty well."

"And?"

"I know a business trip wouldn't have you this emotionally rattled."

"I'm not emotionally rattled. I just..." I pause for a moment, staring out the window at a sky marked with clouds. I remember lying on the grass one summer afternoon with my grandfather and watching similar clouds, though whiter and puffier than the ones today that warn of rain. I told him I was going to grab my favorite one and stuff it in a jar and keep it in my room forever. He laughed and said it was impossible. That when you try to trap a cloud, it simply disappears. They only live in the sky.

"I let her know her I love her," I finally say, my eyes now trained on some blooms outside, a blue one in particular that's the color of her eyes.

"Really?" he asks, and I nod. "That's a huge step. How do you feel about this?"

"Like I'm a fucking coward."

"How so?"

"I didn't say the words myself."

"What do you mean?"

I turn back to him.

"She said it. She said she loved me and knew that I felt the same way. I was tongue tied. I wanted to tell her so many things, but I just nodded my head and agreed." I sit down on the couch, prop my elbows on my knees, and rest my forehead on my steepled fingertips. "I couldn't even give her those words."

"That doesn't sound so cowardly to me. In fact, I think you were brave. Especially with your history—"

"Yes, my fucking past. Elena reminded me of that." I look up and he doesn't look pleased.

"You told Mrs. Lincoln about this?" He starts to write something down.

"No, don't put that in your notes!" I say. "She fucking called and asked about things and I wanted her to know that I love Ana."

"So, you said the words to Mrs. Lincoln? That you love Ana?"

"Yes."

"Words you can't say to Ana?"

"I know, it's fucked up. It just feels giving Ana those words from my lips makes them vile somehow. They're not good enough for her..."

He writes something else and then looks up at me.

"So, Mrs. Lincoln called you..."

"She's been on and on about wanting to be friends with Ana."

"Ana doesn't want to be?"

I actually laugh at that. "No. Ana hates her."

"Hates her? That's strong language."

"Trust me, it's not strong enough," I say. "They've had a few run-ins. But, that's not the real reason." I get up and pace again. I guess I need to feel like I'm running away from what I'm about to say. "Ana thinks she was a child molester." I snort a laugh, in an effort to deflate the comment, but when I look up at him he's staring at me, dead serious.

"What do you think about that?" he asks.

"It's ridiculous. Elena gave me what I needed—structure, a sense of order." I pace.

"Love?" he asks.

"No. Of course not. She couldn't... I couldn't... I didn't know I could have even a taste of that," I say, and then stop and turn to him. "Until now."

"What's different about you now?"

"Ana is."

"So, because you have Ana you're worthy of love and without her you're not?" He scrunches his brow, quizzically.

"I don't think I'm worthy of love at all, especially Ana's." I pace again, covering the path my feet have forged through the rug time and again. "But, I just like how Ana makes me feel."

"How is it different than Mrs. Lincoln?"

"You really have to ask that?" I give him a pointed glare.

"I think you need to say it."

"Night and day. Literally. Cold dark night to warm sunny day." I stop and tap my toe on the edge of the coffee table. "It's nice to be touched without being punished. Even before Elena that was all I knew."

"Ana touches you?"

"Yes, well... I had her draw a map in lipstick on my chest to show her the no-go areas. She sticks to those lines."

"Really?" His eyes nearly pop out of his head.

"But, lately I've been thinking that maybe... I don't know... It might be nice if she put her hand on my chest."

He sits back in his chair, and though it's Mona Lisa subtle, I think a smile touches his lips.

"So, the thing you have spent a lifetime in fear of is the very thing you want to experience now," he says and I nod. "I'd say that you've had more progress in five odd weeks than the last two or twenty-seven years."

"I was thinking something else, too. I'm a realist. I know my love is not good enough for Ana, but maybe, if I give her all of it, everything I have, and I manage to keep the ugliness inside of me hidden away... then maybe she won't see the real me and she'll stay."

The room is pin-drop silent. Flynn is staring at me, not even writing anything, just observing the mess of a man before him.

"You think Ana loves you because you pretend to be someone you're not?"

"No... But, she's a good person. She only sees good things. When she see the bad she'll go. So, I have to prevent that. And I thought that if I—"

"What's so bad about you, Christian?"

"You know better than anyone." I exhale. "I'm sadist, John."

He sighs and rolls his eyes at me.

"Leila Williams," he says.

"What about her?"

"She's sick. She's hurting. She could be out there on the street suffering at this very moment."

"I know. It's all my fault. You prove my point."

"You feel guilty about this? What you think you've done to her?"

"Of course I do. Why are you trying to rub it in my face? I hate that I had anything to do with what's happening to her now."

He leans forward in his chair with a satisfied grin. "If you were a true sadist, her pain would bring you pleasure."

"It used to."

"But, that's when it brought her pleasure, too."

He sits back again, but doesn't take his eyes off of me.

"Elena told he something. It's bothered me."

"What?"

"Young girls change their minds..." I look at him. "I asked Ana to move in with me... But, she hasn't given me an answer."

"Christian—"

"Stop. I know what you're going to say." I hold up a hand. "Walk before you run. Walk before you run. Well, you know what, I've fucking walked, and tip-toed and crawled on my fucking knees for the last twenty-seven years of my life." I look him in the eyes, emotion welling in my own. And although I planned to say my next words with confidence and power, they're the most vulnerable I've ever uttered in this room. "I want to finally fucking run, Flynn."

He closes his notebook, tosses it on his desk and then looks at me, and this time I know he's smiling.

"Then run," he says.

#######

"Sir, would you like me to take you home first?" Taylor asks as he pulls away from from the curb outside Flynn's office in the SUV.

"No, I want to go to SIP and wait for Ana out front," I say.

"But, sir... She's not due to be finished for two hours yet."

"Drive, Taylor."

It's starting to rain as we pull up in front of her building. I laugh to myself, I wasn't able to read the weather report this morning.

I stare at the screen of my Blackberry. A photo I took of Ana as we sailed The Grace smiling up at me. I touch her face, and although it's only glass I'm feeling, I can imagine her skin beneath my fingertips. I need to hear her voice, so I unlock my phone and dial the number still filed away in my contacts as _Anastasia Steele, the girl who interviewed me. _

"Hi," she answers and her voice sounds warm and sweet. I'm amazed she didn't immediately blow up at me, or start in on things, or worse ignore my call altogether.

"Hi," I say in return. "When will you be done?"

"A few hours. Seven thirty, I think."

"I'll wait for you outside."

"Okay."

We're both silent, but just being on the line with her brings me comfort.

"I'm still mad at you," she says, finally breaking through the quiet. "We have a lot to talk about."

"I know." I sigh. But, she wants to talk, Grey. She's not running.

"I have to do some work," she says.

"Of course," I clear my throat of emotion. "Seven thirty it is. I'll be waiting."

She breathes softly and I think I hear a smile before she hangs up.

The rain pours now as I watch the glass doors of her building. Hours must pass, but I don't really notice. All I care about is that one brief moment when those glass doors part and a girl with long brown hair and blue eyes and a smile only for me crosses through them. A girl who deserves the words I love you.

A girl who will hear them tonight.


	41. Chapter 41

_**Thank you for your patience! I'm so amazed at how people have taken to this story. Thank you for your support! xox**_

"Ana, I'm not a man who expresses his feelings easily," I say, knotting my fingers in my lap as the rain pours down outside and splatters against the car windows. "When you told me you loved me and you said you knew I felt the same, I just agreed... and well, that felt wrong." My palms are sweating; I wipe them on my pants, but the geyser still spews. "It wasn't because I didn't feel it, it's because I didn't say it. I just agreed like the coward I am. But, you deserve those words, Ana." I take a deep breath and close my eyes to ready myself for the explosion about to take place in my heart. "I love you—" I open my eyes again, a smile lit across my face just from saying those simple, yet complicated, and everything words to the girl that I so do. But, instead of Anastasia smiling back, I see Taylor peering in at me from outside the car window. Fuck, that I love you rehearsal was going so well! Leave it to Taylor's mug to muck up my mock trial.

I roll down the window. "What is it? Did you see her? Is she coming?" I try to see past his Sasquatch shoulder, but it's nearly impossible.

"No sir, but she's due shortly."

"You said shortly an hour ago. That's the longest short I've ever heard of."

"I know, sir. But, I can assure you it's shorter than it was before."

I've kept him on watch for her with a large, but not too large, umbrella. It's enough to keep her dry and their bodies separated by a substantial margin on the walk from her office to the car, but not enough to really impress her. The last thing I need is her razzle dazzled by his massive gear.

"Well, why are you looking at me in the car; why aren't you looking out there where she'll be walking?" I ask.

"I thought I heard you whimpering and gasping for air, sir. And when I saw you with your eyes closed and your head pitched back—"

"I was practicing my presentation to the South Koreans!"

"Yes, Mr. Grey."

I roll up the window, but then quickly roll it down again. "Move! I want to see her when she comes out, not your back end."

"Yes, sir." He adjusts his ass westward and I roll the window up again, and focus north.

There's no movement of the large glass doors at the front of the building. No matter how much I will them to, they don't part. More evidence that my mastery over the universe was all a mirage. The world spilled out of that building an hour ago. Why has Jack Hyde kept her working so late? I know exactly why. I'm about to bust out and pull her from that predator's paws myself when the doors finally swing wide and an angel steps though them—my Ana.

But, after today, is she really mine anymore?

Taylor does his job well, moving to her quickly and offering her cover, but she refuses his umbrella, as she has a puny little one of her own. And though I'm not at all pleased with that penny short of a dollar number she's sporting to keep her dry, I'm ecstatic she's rebuffed his advances on any level.

My body is pressed against the passenger door of the SUV as Ana slides in next to me in the back. I'm fearing her wrath and I brace for impact, but there's only silence. Perhaps the calm before the storm.

Taylor seals us inside quickly and I watch as she shakes a little rain off her umbrella and onto the floor, then twists it neatly, paying fastidious care and detail to each flap and fold. Her hands slightly tremble as she fastens the snap at the end of the strap that ties it all together, deciding it isn't right and then doing it over again. All the while not acknowledging my existence at all, but fully knowing I'm there.

"Hi," she finally murmurs, cutting her eyes to me before quickly returning them to her umbrella again, snapping and re-snapping the clasp. Her nail polish is all but gone, probably picked fully away today in agitation caused by me.

"Hi," I say, and without realizing it I've grabbed her hand. The need to touch her too great. "Are you still mad?"

"I don't know," she says and then looks away and out her window. I bring her hand to my mouth and run the back of it over my lips, kissing her softly and inhaling her scent. I need this. She's the only thing that makes things right. All my reason and command mean nothing next to this. And to think, they used to mean everything.

"It's been a shitty day," I say as I set our clasped hands between us on the black leather.

"Yes, it has," she says and though she's looking away from me, she gives my fingers a squeeze.

"It's better now that you're here," I say, and brush her fingers with my thumb.

She nods softly and a faint smile crosses her face, and though it's fleeting, it was still there. And I cling to that as tightly as I now cling to her hand.

Taylor abruptly puts on some music as we merge into traffic— an obnoxiously romantic song about a countrified Romeo and Juliet by that girl I think they call Swift. He listens to this shit? It's so obvious what he's doing, though Ana seems unfazed. Her eyes are trained away from me and on the rain, which makes me sad.

We don't talk the entire rest of the way home. We're both stubborn and upset and there's been too much said, and yet not nearly enough. But, as we both stare out our respective windows, silent and hurt and still in an argument worded with profound silence, we never let go of each other's hands.

########

"Taylor, it's practically a monsoon out there! Why are you dropping us out front?" I ask as we pull up to the curb outside of Escala.

"It's faster this way, sir. And the garage has not been secured to my liking. I think it's safer if I take the car down there and check out the surroundings while you make your way up. Sawyer is out front here and he's given the okay."

What the hell is he up to? He's never said so many words all together in his life. When he orders dinner all he grunts is—steak, potatoes, eat. And why would it be a better idea to walk outside in a rainstorm? Suspicious...

He lets us out of the car and gives me a nod and an odd smile before taking off fast, leaving me weirded the fuck out, and us completely stranded with only Ana's Mickey Mouse umbrella for cover. I'm not kidding, it's really a Mickey Mouse umbrella. She must've had this thing since grade three. I should fire Taylor for this! But, somehow the idea of time spent alone with Ana under this washcloth sized covering pleases me greatly. Maybe that's his scheme... Yes, of course! That Romeo and Juliet song, the rain, the weirdness—that's all Taylor. If I didn't know any better I'd think he was my fairy godfather. But trust me, I know the fuck better.

"Here, I'll hold it," I say, with a chivalrous air, taking the metal rod from her hand and covering us with Mickey. That mouse's face staring down at us is terrifying.

"Why do you get to hold it?" she asks, pulling it away and giving me that liberated female brow raise. It's so new to me. I didn't even think female eyebrows moved upward before Ana. Perhaps chivalry really is dead.

"I'm taller. I can provide more coverage." I pull it back again.

"I can provide fine coverage for myself." She pulls it back once more.

"Yes, but if you held it, then I'd only have one dry shoulder and my head would get soaked." I grab it.

"Maybe not such a bad idea." She smirks, and then grabs it away sharply, causing me to have to duck and bend to stay covered in a way I haven't since my years in Elena's dungeon during TPE.

"Ana—" I say, as I try to take it back from her, but she's too fast. I feel like Sir Lancelot on a date with Gloria Steinem.

Suddenly, a gust of wind sweeps through and the umbrella blows back, inverting itself. She loses grasp of it, but I catch it and fight to secure the thing from flying off. The wind changes and the top blows back again, then completely collapses, and for the first time in my life I utter the words, "I can't seem to get it up."

"Let me," she says.

"I can do it," I say, obviously not doing it, but defending my impotence. "It just takes a flick of the wrist and a quick one, two." I demonstrate, but my rainy day performance falls flat.

"Well, while you play Caveman Gene Kelly, we're getting soaked."

"I haven't even started my tap dance number yet," I smirk.

Thunder claps, but no one else does.

"I'm serious, Christian."

"Fine. Fair point well made, Miss Steele." I mutter, and hand it to her. With fast hands around that rod she's got it shooting up and out in lightning flash time. Lightning just flashed, so I know this is true.

Damn.

"You're pretty good with those umbrella tricks," I say as she lifts the thing over us, high into the air.

"I've had practice." I'm not sure if that's a veiled sexual innuendo or she's had the thing so long she really has. Whatever the case, she better have only ever gotten her practice with me and Mickey Mouse.

"May I?" I move to take the umbrella and our fingers touch. A jolt of electricity shoots through me. For a moment I think I've been struck by lightning, but I've really been struck by her. She's as still as I am, so I think she feels it, too. The sky weeping and the thunder cracking overhead does nothing to break our gaze. They say water and electricity don't mix. They're wrong.

"You'd better get under here, or you'll catch cold," I finally say and move to fully cover her.

"Did you have me followed?" she asks.

"What? When?"

"You know."

"No, I don't." I mean, there's been so many times that could be loosely or extremely considered the case.

"Today."

"Yes," I exhale. Here we go.

"Why would you treat me like a child?"

"Why did you go out?" I shoot back.

"So, that's why you were spying on me?"

"Sawyer was watching. Making sure you weren't in any danger, but you weren't any help. Do you know what could have happened to you at that Rah Rah Deli?"

"Art's Deli. It's Art's."

"Should I print my correction in the Times?"

"Honestly, Christian! That's your excuse for having me followed and not telling me?" She starts walking fast and I have to race to keep up with her, working like hell to make sure that umbrella stays over her head.

"I thought you knew."

"No, I'm sorry. I haven't lived in a world like this before," she huffs and picks up speed. What does that mean? She doesn't want to be in my world?

"Did you do it on purpose?" I ask. "Buying the pastrami with the mustard on the rye? Because if you did, that was royally stupid."

"Stupid?" She stops abruptly. "Did you just call me stupid?"

"Your actions, Miss Steele."

"Well, I'll have you know that Jack sent me out for his lunch." Of course he did. Fat ass. "It's my job. I would think a businessman of your stature would appreciate an employee doing her duty."

"Well, I am, as we well established, your boss's boss's boss. What about doing your duty to me?"

"Fine, I'll get you a sandwich tomorrow."

"Good, make it in the kitchen, at home, where you've been all day and I'll pick it up."

"Christian, we've been over this! I'm going to work!"

Another gust blows and I react by pulling her closer, working to shield her from the elements.

"Ana, please let's discuss all this inside," I say and she nods as the weather forces us to chose whether to drown or to move forward.

I think I realize why Taylor sent us out here like this. No matter how angry or hurt or fed up we are with each other at the moment, we still have to huddle together under the smallest canopy for cover and work together to get in and out from the storm. There's a special closeness that happens when you face the rain together.

I move us fast through the front doors of the building. A neighbor I marginally met once during a power outage, waves. By marginally, I mean he asked if I needed to borrow a flashlight, I said "_you don't think I have a fucking flashlight_?", and that was that. He's an idiot and he's eyeing Ana far too long while he waits for the concierge to wrangle his UPS delivery. Probably some dick enhancement equipment. I give him a nod that says go sit and spin on your fucking flashlight.

The elevator dings open and I usher her inside, then enter my penthouse code. We're alone. Instantly, as the doors close, there's that crackle of electricity again. I don't know if it's because we've been fighting, or because we're in an elevator, or just because I've missed her all day, but I need to be inside of her. Now.

"Do you feel it?" I ask, looking down at her.

"Yes," she exhales.

"Oh Ana." I wrap my arms around her and bring my mouth to hers, causing her to drop the umbrella and her bag. One hand holds tight to her waist, and the other cups her chin as my tongue parts her lips. The taste of her immediately calms me and ignites me all at once.

"I hate arguing with you," I whisper against her mouth.

"Me, too," she says and she reaches up and kisses me back. She wants this. She wants me. And heaven and hell know I want her.

I run my hands down the length of her body as I devour her mouth. Over her ass and across her hips and down her milky thighs. I tease with my fingers at the hem of her skirt and she opens her legs to me. I smile against her mouth as I push the fabric of her skirt upward.

"Do you want something, Miss Steele?" I ask as my thumbs brush her inner thighs. She moans a response and tilts her hips up to me.

"Jesus, you're wearing stockings," I say, upon tactile discovery. I had almost forgotten about these glorious wonders in the drama of the day. "I need to see this." I slide her skirt up her hips so I can fully appreciate the lace that hugs the bare flesh of her delicious thighs.

Stepping back, I press the _stop_ button to the elevator. Her panting body stays pressed against the wall, waiting for me.

"Take your hair down," I command and she does so without hesitation. Her hair is thick and shiny and golden chestnut as it cascades over her breasts.

Those breasts... I need to see her breasts...

"Undo the top two buttons of your blouse," I say and her fingers fumble to the result. Her chest heaves and the fabric parts, exposing the top of her perfect tits and the smattering of lace cupping them.

Holy fuck.

"Do you have any idea how alluring you look right now?" I step to her, my cock throbbing in my pants.

Her eyes never leaving mine, she shakes her head and most purposely and demonstratively bites down on her bottom lip. I close my eyes and tilt my head back to take a breath.

She owns me.

"I think you do, Miss Steele," I say after seductively bringing my gaze back to hers. "I think you like driving me wild." I move close to her, so we're nearly touching, but just barely not.

"Do I drive you wild?" she asks, her breath quickening.

"In all things, Miss Steele." I place a finger on her mouth and softly trace her lower lip. "You are a siren. A goddess." I lean in and slowly take that lip between my teeth, tugging it and then sucking it upon release. I run my other hand up her outer thigh, and then in a swift move hitch it up around my waist, grinding myself against her so she can feel how hard I am for her. She wraps her arms around my neck and begins to rock against me, and we develop a rhythm, both searching for friction between her thighs.

"I'm going to take you now," I say, and she moans in her arched back response as I lift her higher and undo my fly.

"Yes," she purrs still grinding into me.

"Hold tight, baby," I say as I reach into my pocket and pull out a foil packet. I had put it in there this morning just in case, but after the day we've had I never dreamed I'd be using it now.

"Here," I place the foil between her teeth and she bites and pulls, tearing it open with a zeal driven by lust.

"Good girl," I say, then remove it from her lips, take the condom out and secure it on my length. "God, I can't wait for the next six days." I brush my lips against her ear, as I run two fingers along the lace edge covering her sex, and I growl," I do hope you're not overly fond of these panties." Hooking my fingers inside and teasing her clit as I go, I tear through the soaked lace, and ruined they fall to the floor.

"Caroline Acton's going to have quite the list," she pants a laugh.

"Oh, this is just the beginning."

I bring my lips to her throat as I sink into her. I can feel the race and pound of her heart against my mouth as I begin to move inside of her—so slow.

"You are mine," I whisper and I still myself for a moment just to feel her so close. This is my favorite place to be. Buried in her.

"Yes, yours," she pants. "When will you realize that?" I groan hearing those words and start to move, our eyes fixed on each other as I pound into her at a pace I'm almost not able to control. I need to possess her, but with each thrust it's she that's possessing me.

"Oh baby," I moan, absolutely lost in her. I can feel her tightening and throbbing around me, and I know she's close. "Oh please, Ana. Give it to me." On command, she clenches around me and the wave of her pulsing orgasm ignites my own. I spill myself into her. And I'm left with nothing and absolutely everything at once.

"Was that make-up sex?" she laughs and pants. I've had sex for atonement before, but this was another thing entirely.

"Oh Ana," I say, my forehead pressed to hers. "Whatever it was... I need it and I need you so much."

"And I need you," she says and it blows my fucking mind. I pull back and look at her for a moment. Who's ever needed me before, let alone the most glorious thing God's ever created? I find myself wrestling with that in my mind, often now. Why would God ever give his best to his worst? Unless it was to take it away again to punctuate the point.

I release her, reluctantly pulling out and away. She straightens herself as I remove the wretched condom, and once I'm sure she's well dressed again I press the button to start up the elevator.

"Taylor will be wondering where we are," I say. I have to laugh. The bastard knows what we're up to. He practically set it up. I'm surprised there wasn't chilled champagne and a string quartet in here upon arrival. Though, I don't like that he'll think of Ana in that sort of situation every time he rides in the thing.

"Oh crap, I forgot about Taylor," Ana says. Music to my ears. Ana tries to straighten her hair in vain. It's so sexy all tousled like that. She's so perfectly just well fucked looking. She's even misbuttoned her shirt.

"You'll do." I smile and put the knotted up condom in my pocket.

The doors open and Taylor is expectantly standing there. He tries to hide his smirk, looking down and away as we enter the foyer.

"Problem with the elevator," I say.

"I'll have someone look into it, sir," he says.

Ana dips her head and makes off fast to the bedroom to change. All I can do is smile. This Monday went from good to bad to worse to fucking amazing again.

"Sir, I don't mean to alarm you."

"What?" I shoot my head to him. The smile I was wearing is now gone. "What the hell's wrong? Is it Leila?"

"We found another note from her, sir."

"Where?"

"It was in your mail here. It was addressed to you, but it had no stamp or postmark, sir."

"What does that mean?"

"It wasn't actually mailed, but it was left to look like it was. Juvenile, really. She probably did it when she was here before."

"Probably? You're not sure?"

"I can't confirm or deny, Mr. Grey. But, there's been nothing new on surveillance. Nothing out of place, here."

"Let me see it."

He pulls a small card from his pocket and hands it to me. It's a Valentine. Nothing fancy, but the hearts and flowers that cover the front send me a message loud and clear. I open it and in red, like it was written in crayon or a liner for lips, are seven scratched out words—_But, you don't let her touch you. _

I cringe. Not so much because Leila sent the note, but because it's the truth. Ana still can't. But, how does Leila know this is still true?

"Is this it?" I ask. "It doesn't look too much of a threat—"

"No," he says, and he looks upset. "She sent you that card in this package, Mr. Grey." He hands me a larger envelope. What the fuck—is he giving me each piece separately for added suspense? I reach inside and to my horror pull out a smattering of white gauze bandages that are covered with dried blood. And written on a post-it note stuck to them—_For Anastasia when she needs them. _

"Oh my god." I gasp and drop them. "What the hell is that?"

"We assume it's her bandages from when she cut her wrists." He picks them up from the floor and stuffs them back in the envelope. "Welch and his men are on it full force, sir."

"Well, that doesn't make me feel any better. They were on it full force before and all of this shit keeps happening! I swear, if anything happens to Ana—" I clench my fists. "I don't care what it takes, get Leila off the streets!"

And just like that my Monday free falls again.


	42. Chapter 42

**_Here's a long one for you. Hope you enjoy! xox_**

**_And if you are in the Halloween spirit, please check out my story from last year—Fifty Shades of Boo: A Grey Family Halloween. _**

"_Just do it, snot wad!" Elliot screamed up at me as I stood on the high dive, cold and wet and shaking. He had just gone before me and with a running jump he dove headfirst into the water. No fear. No hesitation. Bystanders applauded and he reveled in it. That was Elliot. _

_Then it was my turn. _

_We had been taking swimming lessons all summer—me, and the kids in the line at the board. We had just swum laps and practiced our form. We were supposed to be ready for this, but I was a living, breathing supposed-to-be._

_"You're holding up the line," a kid who's name I can no longer remember, but whose crooked ill flossed fangs I forever will, yelled at me. I was eight and loud voices still scared me. I hadn't mastered yet how to shut them out. That would come in double my years. _

_"Tee shirt boy is scared!" another one yelled, referring to the superhero wet suit tees I always wore when I swam to hide my chest. I folded my arms to cover Superman. I needed to protect him. _

_I stood there and clenched my fists, telling myself that if I held tight to my own palms that would somehow make me safe, but my feet at the end of the board didn't believe me. _

_"You're ready for this, Grey!" the swimming coach called out. "Just hold your breath and go fast." I tried to hold my breath, but that just felt another step closer to dying. _

_"Don't you wanna jump?" a little girl who I thought was pretty, but I threw dirt at on most afternoons asked me. _

_I thought about it a moment, and as I stared into the clear blue below and past my shadowed reflection rippling in the water, I couldn't envision the thrill of the jump or the huge splash or the crowd of bystanders celebrating my victory with applause. All I could see was the concrete bottom. And I knew it had its eyes on me. _

_I didn't jump that day. I chose to face the ridicule of Elliot and my classmates, and the disappointed head shake of that pretty girl as I climbed step by step back down the ladder. _

_And I never climbed up onto a high dive platform again. _

_Not until Ana. _

"Why the fuck haven't you found her?" I scream at Welch into the phone in my study. The notes and bloody bandages scattered across my desk are rattled when my hand slams down onto the wood.

"It's not easy," Welch says. "She's out there making no real trail."

"How do you figure? She sent me her fucking blood! There's a trail all over my desk."

"Yeah, but that's the thing. We've been over hours of surveillance and we can't figure how she slipped it in your mailbox. She's made no contact with anyone we can verify, aside from sneaking around Susannah's property when she wasn't there. It's like she just appears out of thin air." He sounds all spooked out. Like he's narrating a ghost hunting show on one of those sketchy cable channels you only surf when you can't sleep or are completely drunk. Or you're Welch.

"How is she surviving? Where is she getting food and money?" I ask. "She has to be existing somehow."

"That's what we're trying to figure out. She had some cash on hand. We know that. But, we can't trace it to a motel or anything."

I pull at my hair as I pace.

"It takes time, Grey. It's not like we're the FBI."

"You're supposed to be better than the FBI!" I say. "That's what I pay you for! To out FBI the FBI!" I'm surprised I'm not half bald after that last yank of my locks.

"Listen, we're close. We'll beef up security even more. A few days, we'll crack this case—"

"Tomorrow!" I slam down the phone.

I look at the note again. Her writing is shaky and her letters sharp. You can see the pain in the lines. I trace Ana's name with my finger and the red of whatever it was written with smudges on my fingertip. And though it's crayon or pencil, it looks just like fresh blood. Was that her intention? I shiver.

I need to call Flynn.

"Christian, what is it?" he answers. There are all these kids screaming and laughing in the background. Some sing-song music is blasting. He sounds like he's in the middle of the Big Bird world tour.

"Where are you?"

"The PTA potluck I told you about. The kids are putting on a skit about dental hygiene tonight. I'm a tooth." He says it so proudly.

"Fabulous." I swear I'd shoot myself if I had to do what he does in those fucking school shows. Would never happen.

"Christian, what is it? You seem upset. Is it Ana?"

"No. I mean, I haven't had the conversation I want to have with her yet, but we fucked and we're about to eat, so we're on the right trajectory."

"Okay, then what?"

"It's Leila. She's sending me things." I pace.

"What kinds of things?"

"An edible bouquet and a Starbucks gift card, what the fuck do you think?"

"Christian, calm down."

"I can't calm down. She sent me these notes—creepy fucking notes—along with the blood stained bandages she wrapped her wrist with. She's threatening Ana!"

"How? What did she say?"

"_For Anastasia when she needs them,_" I read from the Post-it and my breath leaves my lungs.

"Really?" he asks, calmer than I expected. What, did the Novocaine kick into his costume or something?

"Yes, really! Ana is in danger!"

"I'm not so sure."

"What? Of course she is! That was a direct threat!"

"You really think she's trying to accost Ana, who she's been in immediate proximity with twice before, and slit her wrist like she sliced her own?"

"I don't fucking know! And I'm not waiting around to find out! Will you tell Ana she can't go to work? She might listen to you since you have a British accent—"

"Christian, knowing Leila's past," he says, in full Freudian rose smelling shit mode now. "It sounds more like she's trying desperately to show you what she perceives you've done to her. And she knows you'll take special notice if she uses Ana's name."

"You mean like she's trying to provoke me?"

"Possibly. Or trap you. You spoke of how she used these cat and mouse games when you had your arrangement."

"Yes, but that was sexual play. This is reality."

"The lines are blurred for Leila right now. She cut a vein in your home while you were away with Ana. She witnessed Ana in your bed. She's seen you photographed with her. She knows Ana is different, which in turn is the key to getting to you. The thought of you with Ana is obviously causing her great distress."

"What are you saying?"

"Keep security on high alert and don't take any chances, but I think the one truly in danger from Leila is Leila."

#######

"Good evening, sir," Mrs. Jones says as I remove my still damp coat and hang it on a chair at the breakfast bar. I didn't change my clothes. I've been too consumed with the note and macabre gift of my ex-submissive's blood. And though I will take absolutely no chances when it comes to Ana's safety, upon further review and after speaking with Flynn, I'm starting to believe it wasn't a threat to Ana, but a warning.

_This is what he'll do to you. _

"It was stressful, but it's okay now, I think." I sit down and lean in to Gail, who's busy over the stove. "Did you get my text about dinner?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey. Coq au vin. It should be ready shortly." She grins, though it looks like she's smuggling bubbles in her cheeks. Has she been nipping at the sherry?

"Good," I say. I see she's lit a few candles and there are flowers. Different from this morning. Are those tulips? Why can't she get more gender neutral blooms like orchids or snapdragons? I quite like snapdragons.

"Where did we get these dishes?" I ask, looking at a plate with scalloped edges that's covered with more flowers—roses this time. Pink ones. There's a whole family of them stacked at both place settings on the breakfast bar—salad, bread, dessert... and a tea service for two. The napkins are a blushed pink, as well. Even the silverware looks bashful. What the hell?

"Oh, I bought some new household items today. I figured since Miss Steele will be here more frequently that she'd enjoy a few more female friendly things." She dips her head to try and hide that smile. Not working. Have she and Taylor secretly been waiting all these years to go crazy for me at the Pottery Barn?

"Yes, I'm sure she will," I say. "We have Bollinger and strawberries?" I ask and she nods. "How about vanilla ice cream?"

"Yes, sir." She cuts her eyes up at me from her dish at the stove. "Is there something special happening tonight?"

Oh, I'm just going to tell her that I love her...

"Why do you ask that?" I ask, deflecting the question.

"You've never made these requests before. I didn't think you particularly liked vanilla ice cream."

"I love it. It's my favorite flavor now. Always have it on hand. I mean, always. And it has to be Ben and Jerry's."

"Yes, sir." She eyes me peculiarly as she stirs, but there's a delight in the way she does this. Like I'm a funny little monkey at the zoo.

"I just want it to be nice tonight, Gail. It's been a long day and Anastasia and I may or may not have a few things to discuss," I mumble the end, trying to play it off.

"Oh? Is it anything to do with our conversation this morning, sir?"

"Anastasia and I may or may not have a few things to discuss," I repeat emphatically, with a raised brow.

"Yes, Mr. Grey. But, whatever the case, make sure you speak from your heart."

"You know me, Gail. I don't have a heart."

She shakes her head and smiles. "You and I and a certain special someone know that isn't true."

"Don't tell me, it's Taylor," I say and she laughs.

"Dinner smells delicious," Ana says as she returns, saving me from further interrogation. She's changed into jeans and a camel sweater that falls off one shoulder casually, and her hair is piled atop her head in a messy bun. God, she's adorable. I'm always surprised when she enters a room and there aren't little birds and woodland creatures whistling a song following her.

"Here she is," I say and stand to greet her, taking her hand and pulling her close to give her a quick kiss. "You look lovely."

"You didn't change," she says.

"Don't you like me the way I am?" I smirk, and she giggles, rolling those beautiful eyes. "I got busy with work, but I'm mostly dry now." Aside from a wet spot on my right ass cheek. She, too, is looking up at me peculiarly now. But, it's less funny little monkey and more trying to decipher the subtle notes of my bullshit.

"What beautiful china!" Ana says. "And tulips!"

"Just a casual Monday around here," I say.

"Well, you two enjoy," Gail says, and after quickly plating up our meals, she makes herself scarce. Though, she's surely spying from around some corner. We've replaced The Young and the Restless as her favorite soap opera.

"It smells delicious," Ana says, and I'm pleased to see her eager to dig in and eat. It brings me untold comfort at this moment to see her well fed.

"Yes, it's one of Gail's best." I'm finding it hard to concentrate, with all the fighting today, and the hot elevator sex, the bloody bandages, and now the I love you that's on the tip of my tongue.

Say it, Grey!

"Would you like a glass of wine?" I ask instead as I travel to the fridge to fetch the Bollinger. I need a glass of liquid courage.

"Yes, please," she says and I uncork it and pour two.

"How was work?" she asks, taking a bite of her meal and tilting her head back, orgasmically smiling and moaning as she tastes it. Fuck me. That's going on the regular menu.

"Is that sarcasm?" I set a glass in front of her and then take a seat and sip my own.

"No, I mean, aside from everything else that happened..." she frowns.

Fuck. I don't want to remind her of all that. Keep talking, Grey!

"Well, I'm working with the South Koreans on a landmark telecommunications project in the third world."

"Sounds exciting!" It does?

"It's more of a perpetual migraine. The men I've been working with are complete assholes. I can't get anywhere with them." Of course, walking out on them this afternoon didn't help.

"Maybe I should come in and handle them for you."

"Maybe you should," I smile, and already she's lightened my mood. Can I tell her now that I love her? In the middle of a bite of potato?

"So, you have a place in New York?" she asks, then picks up her glass to sip.

"Yes, why?" I mirror her sip with my own.

"I was just curious." Why is she fishing around like this? She's not going to bring that Jack Hyde trip up again, is she?

"Would you like to go to New York with me?" I ask. Oh please, let's go right now! We can leave all this bullshit behind, fuck the entire way on the plane and do up the town.

"Did your subs go?"

Thud. That's the sound of my balls being pounded with ice blocks. Why'd she bring them up when I was thinking of breaking our mile high cherries?

"No, Ana. They've never stepped foot in any of my other properties."

"Not skiing in Aspen?"

"No. Trust me, one thing we never did was ski."

"You never took them on business trips?" She scrunches her nose, curious as ever, as she takes a bite of her meal.

"No, I never took them on any trips at all—business or pleasure. I'd never be seen with them in public."

A flash of a memory hits me hard...

"_Sir, may I speak freely?" Leila asked one afternoon, down on her knees, naked beside me at my desk as I hung up my call. _

_"Yes," I said. "You've pleased me this afternoon. You may."_

_"Would it be possible for Sir to take me with him to Rome?" she asked. "It's mostly on the weekend and I've never been and I could make Sir happy if I go." She was paying attention to my conversation and my plans for business in Italy. Her excitement at the possibility for us was troubling. She knew the rules; she knew her place in my life. But, the lines were beginning to blur. _

_"No, you'll stay here," I said, firmly. "I don't want to take a chance on anyone seeing you. And, I don't want anyone seeing us together in public." We had been together nearly two years and this was still true. _

_"Of course, Sir." She dipped her head obediently, though it wasn't purely in submission. I don't think she wanted me to see the disappointment in her eyes. But, I had been seeing it more and more. _

_"If you're a good girl," I said as I tilted her chin up with my fingers. "I'll bring you something back." _

_"Thank you, Sir." Her voice was soft and hoarse. Distant. Part of her appeal to me had always been her fragility, her delicacy, but that day I saw something more. It's like the sun lit her porcelain frame and I could begin to see the cracks. She was a doll with many glued together pieces. _

_"Now, you know you shouldn't be listening to my calls," I said and she fluttered an apology, but her eyes stayed fixed on a place I'm not sure was ever really there. "Show me how sorry you are." I unzipped myself, and tugging her by the hair I pressed her mouth to my groin. _

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of that memory. Was that really me? Why didn't I recognize the beginning of her madness then? I was her Dom and I ultimately failed her.

I will never fail Ana.

"You're not a secret, Ana," I say, taking her hand fast. "I want to show you off to the world. You would be the first and only. I would never hide you."

"Okay," she says and gives me a quizzical smile as to why I'm being so overly demonstrative about this point, but she doesn't press me for explanation. "I would like to go sometime."

"Perhaps, this weekend," I say. "New York is lovely in June..." Wait, that scrotal sac invited her in June. "I mean, on weekends. For lovers. Not on business trips on Wednesdays."

"You were right about Jack," she says.

"Has he tried anything?" I ask, knotting my napkin in my fist and preparing to bolt for his residence to murder the fucker if he so much as touched a single hair on her.

"No," she shakes her head, just before I alert Taylor to get his irons hot for the impending castration. "And he won't. I told him today that I'm your girlfriend. He backed right off."

"He knew that on Friday during our pissing contest!"

"Yes, but he now knows exactly who he was pissing with."

"Are you sure? Because I could fire that fucker."

"I know," she says. "But, you really need to let me fight my own battles. It's stifling, Christian. I'll never make it on my own with your constant interference."

"You don't need to make it on your own," I say, and she gives me that I am woman look. "I mean, you're not alone. You have me. I'll do anything, give you whatever you need—"

"I need some freedom. To spread my wings," she says.

Except that.

Oh my God. She's talking about wings being spread. No one spreads their wings unless they're flying off. That's one step before "it's not you it's me," but it's most certainly me that she's leaving.

"I only want you safe," I say. "You don't understand what's out there. It's not a good world, Ana."

"I don't believe that," she says, with such deeply held sincerity it makes me weep inside for her innocence—how beautiful it is and how absolutely terrifying.

"I know you don't. So, I have to believe it for the both of us. So, you'll be safe and so you can go on not believing that for the rest of your life."

"Christian, I do understand why you feel so driven to protect me. And part of me loves it. I know that if I need you, you'll be there, as I am for you. But..."

"But?" I ask, with a gulp.

"But, you have to trust me and trust my judgment. Yes, I'll get it wrong sometimes—I'll make mistakes, but I have to learn on my own."

On her own. Oh god, this is it. The moment I get hit by the bus and my life ends. And I haven't even changed out of my damp underwear yet.

I watch as she moves to stand between my legs. She takes my hands and places them around her waist as her own hands rest on my arms.

"I don't need you charging in like a white knight to save the day," she says.

"I'm not a white knight. I've never been a white knight. White knights are bullshit. They're only in it for the glory. I couldn't give a damn about glory. I just want you safe and protected."

_I love you, Ana... _

Say it, Grey! Before she goes...

But, my tongue feels like it's been nailed to my jaw.

"I know you want to control everything," Ana says. "And, I understand why, but you can't. It's an impossible goal...you have to learn to let go."

Let go... No, Ana!

She reaches up to stroke my face, and though it's futile, I take a deep breath to try to prepare myself for what's coming.

"And if you can do that—give me that," she says, and then strokes my cheek. "I'll move in with you."

"What?" I ask. I sound like my grandfather when his hearing aid is off and he needs to know the score of a big game.

"I'll move in with you," she says.

"You'd do that?" I sputter the question out.

"Yes." She smiles.

"Move in here?"

"Yes."

"With me?"

"Well, I don't think I'll be moving in here without you." She giggles and it's music. Though, the opera is cut short when the Phantom in my mind starts pounding his organ.

"But, you don't even know me." I look down and away.

"I know you well enough." She gently places her fingers on my cheek, then tilts my chin up. "Nothing you could ever tell me would frighten me away."

"Oh Ana," I say, swallowing a ball of emotion caught in my throat. She's good and sweet. She doesn't know the fear that really makes you run.

"Please, just lighten up on me," she says.

"I'm trying, but I couldn't with him, Ana. I couldn't let that sleazeball take you to New York and take advantage of you. He does this with every one of his assistants. They all leave. No more than three months they're out the door and they're never retained by the company. I don't want that for you."

"I know, Christian."

"No, you don't." I wrap my arms tighter around her waist. "I don't want anything to happen to you. The thought fills me with dread. I can't promise not to interfere, not if I think something might bring you harm. I just—"

I look up into her eyes. They're blue. Just like that pool I looked into from the high dive when I was eight. I feel the same fear. My toes curl. My palms sweat. Everything is the same as it was then, except for one thing—I don't see the concrete bottom anymore. I only see the blue.

"I love you, Anastasia," I say, the words floating off my tongue like they were nothing, but they are everything. She inhales, as surprised that I actually said them as I am. All afternoon I practiced and planned, and then it just happened. Like she just happened. And I'm coming to realize that all the things I plan are shit. It's the things that knock me in my ass that mean anything.

Lesson learned, Flynn.

"Christian, I love you, too," she breathes and she touches my face, almost as if to feel that I'm real and not plastic and wires like most of my employees suspect.

"I won't let anything bring you harm. Ever," I say. "And it's not because I need to control you or to treat you like a child... I need you to be safe because I do love you."

I said it again!

"Oh Christian—"

"And I promise I will protect you. I can't imagine my life without you. I want you here with me always."

Holy shit, am I going to propose?!

She's agreed to move in with me. That's the next step, right? Though, it's not supposed to be done all on the same night.

Fuck supposed-to-be's.

"Ana," I pull back to take her hand and I stroke the bare skin of her left ring finger. "You are everything I could ever want..."

"Oh, Christian." She leans in to kiss me and after a few moments I pull away again. I want to keep kissing her, but I just have so much to say.

"Those six days without you were like purgatory for me," I whisper. "I was on my way to hell, but you came back to me."

"Christian." She kisses me deeper this time and begins to grind herself against me.

Fuck. She's trying to have sex with me and I want to propose.

"Ana, I know this is crazy, but—" Oh Lordy, she's stroking my balls.

"What's crazy?" she asks, and then unzips me.

"Ana, I need to ask you..." To please continue... No, Grey! Focus!

"What?" she asks as she takes me out and begins to softly pump me with her hand.

"Ana, will you... will you..."

Oh fuck!

"Mr. Grey," Taylor says, abruptly interrupting us as he enters.

Damn it!

"What?" I snap, standing sharply and working fast to zip myself, but it's like trying to bend a steel rod into a horseshoe. Fuck! Taylor's caught me with my dick in my hand two days in a row.

"Mrs. Lincoln is here to see you," he says.

What. The. Literal. Fuck.

"Tell her we're busy," I say as I finally wrangle myself into my pants. Poor Ana, she's humiliated being caught again. She's hiding her face into my shoulder. God, her breath is so hot.

"Sawyer told her you requested no visitors," he says. "But, Mrs. Lincoln wouldn't have it."

Of course she wouldn't. And she knows the elevator codes. I can't very well avoid her in here when the doors open. I contemplate locking Ana and I in the bedroom and pretending we're not home, though I'm sure Elena would pick the lock with her hairpin.

"Should I forcibly see her out, sir?" If I'm not mistaken he sounds hopeful about this possibility.

"No," I say, though it's tempting. No... Let her see Ana here with me, up close. It's one thing to see us at a masked ball or to discuss it in theory. It's quite another to see us living here—officially together now—in _our_ home.

Yes, that's exactly how we'll play this.

"Escort her in, Taylor," I say.

Taylor nods and goes to wait by the elevator to retrieve her.

"Well, this should be interesting," I say to Ana and lean over to kiss her hair.

"Did you talk to her today?" Ana asks and I can feel her tense, so I stroke her arm.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"To tell her you didn't want to see or speak to her."

"What did she say?"

"She blew it off in the way Elena does." I also blew her head off, which is why it's fucking odd and also totally Elena that she would show up here now.

The elevator dings and out she comes. She's wearing all black—per usual. Leather pants and a snug fur cuffed sweater—in June! It's like she's dressed for the funeral of her own outfit. Her hair has been freshly done and her lips and nails a perfectly matched red. She's always put together, but she's gotten ready for this visit, and I'm troubled to think why.

"Mrs. Lincoln is here," Taylor pops out to announce.

"Yes, thank you, Taylor. We see her."

He nods and disappears. He and Gail are probably watching from the same shadowed corner. _The Young and the Restless _has concluded and we're now in the midst of _The Old and the Demonic_.

"Elena," I say and wrap my arm around Ana's shoulder.

Elena's face is frozen, but this time it's not Botox induced. She's been met with shock, and her name is Anastasia.

"Christian," she says, staring at Ana. "I didn't think you'd have company. It's Monday."

Is this why she came over? Because she thought I'd be alone?

"Girlfriend," I say, and tilt my head toward the girl I hope will be so much more.

Elena gives Ana a cool smile. I can feel Ana tense as if readying to bolt, so I hold her closer to me.

"Of course, Anastasia," Elena says. "I didn't know you would be here." She inhales sharply as if the reality check she's been handed couldn't be cashed without a deep breath. "I know you don't want to speak to me. I accept that."

"Do you?" Ana shoots back. Damn, my girl is spicy.

"Yes, I do," Elena says. "But, I'm not here to see you. Christian rarely has company during the week, so I didn't think you would be here." She's said three versions of that same excuse in the two minutes she's been here. It's obviously floored her that I now have the forbidden weekday romance. She straightens herself and looks back to me. "I have a problem and I need Christian's help."

"Oh?" I say. Somehow I'm doubting this problem, as it comes on the evening after the day I basically told her to fuck herself. But, she does look rattled about something. And I'm still her friend, aren't I?

"I just really need to talk to you," Elena says and fiddles with this monstrous ring on her middle finger. It kind of looks like she cut someone's balls off, dipped them in gold and put them on a band to be worn on her fuck you finger. It's so Elena.

"Do you want a drink?" I ask and she nods. I worry about leaving Ana with Elena for the moment it takes to bartend, but then on second thought, Elena should fear Ana.

I eye them over the crystal service as I pour Elena a whiskey neat. There's no way in hell I'm giving Elena a taste of Ana's Bollinger. Ana watches Elena as she continues to dip her eyes and play with the ring. It's odd to see Elena dipping her eyes to anyone. After a few uncomfortable moments, Ana coolly walks to the edge of the breakfast bar and takes a seat on the stool I vacated. She's staking her claim. I like it.

"What's up?" I ask, handing Elena the glass. I sit on the barstool between them, and then reach over to clasp Ana's hand.

Elena looks to me, then to Ana, then holds her gaze to mine again. She's wondering why I haven't asked Ana to leave the room. If that's what she wants, she'll be waiting all damn night.

"Anastasia is with me now," I say.

Elena wears that cool smile again, and delivers a slight nod as she perches herself on the stool next to me. Her perfume is overpowering. It's the same perfume she used to wear. Why is she wearing it now?

"I'm being blackmailed," she says.

"How?" I ask, because I don't need to ask why. I feel Ana shift uncomfortably, so I squeeze tighter to her hand.

"I don't know, Christian." Elena reaches into her purse, pulls out a letter of sorts, and then hands it to me.

Oh God! I've seen enough menacing notes these last few days I could open a museum. Well, if menacing note museums were thing.

"Put it down. Lay it out," I say.

"You don't want to touch it?" Elena asks.

"No, fingerprints." I don't want any part of whatever shit she's messed up in and there's no way I'm letting go of Ana's hand.

"Christian, you know I can't go to the police with this," Elena says. "If this gets out—"

"I know," I say.

I expect an elaborate scheme, a well concocted plan to screw Elena out of a fortune, but I'm left with a note that looks like it was written by a juvenile who skipped all of his classes except How Not to Be a Criminal 101. Misspelled words and sloppy handwriting. Is she serious with this shit? This makes Leila's notes look Pulitzer worthy.

"They only want five thousand dollars," I say, reading the final line. And they don't even say where to send it or exactly when. Just to "have it ready."

"I know. I don't understand it," she says. She's shaking her foot; she's nervous. Is it Ana or something else?

"Could it be someone in the community? Linc?" I ask.

"No, I don't think so. Not after all this time." She looks to Ana, who's just watching us. Elena is unnerved. No one has been privy to our conversations before, or our secrets. Now, Ana has a front row seat.

"Have you alerted Issac?" I ask.

"I haven't told him yet."

"Well, I think he needs to know." His career as crustacean display king at the fish market may be in jeopardy.

Ana starts to wriggle from my grasp, which makes me hold to her tighter. She's trying to escape and I don't want her to go.

"What is it, baby?" I ask, and gently brush the hair off her face. I can see Elena, out of the corner of my eye, watching me do this as if pigs were flying and the pit of her origin was freezing over.

"I'm going to bed. I'm really tired," Ana says. She's uncomfortable being around Elena. I want her to stay, but I don't want to cause her stress.

"Okay, baby. I'll be right in." I give her a sweet kiss.

"Good night, Elena," Ana says as she stands.

"Good night, Anastasia." Elena watches Ana intently as she passes the staircase and walks through the hallway that leads to my—now our bedroom.

"I don't think there's a great deal I can do," I say.

"No, of course not." Elena sighs, and then takes her eyes off the hallway to take a drink. It's rough going down for her, I know. "I just wanted to share. Like we do."

"Good. Well, if that's all—"

"You look happy," she says, setting her glass down on the counter and then cutting her eyes to me. Though, the way she says it is less a statement of what is and more a question of what was. Like the way you talk at New Year's parties about where the year went.

"I am," I say.

"You deserve to be."

"I wish that were true." I take a sip, but the wine isn't as sweet now.

"Christian!" she playfully swats at me. "Does she know about you? About all your issues?" She makes issues sound like such a dirty, secret word.

"She knows me better than anyone."

"Ouch." She laughs it away, but the smile on her lips doesn't touch her eyes.

"It's true, Elena. We don't have to play games."

There's an awkward silence. It's new for Elena and me. We used to be able to talk about anything.

"She sleeps in your bedroom?" She takes another sip.

"Yes—_our_ bedroom."

"She lives here now?" Her chin nearly meets marble on that one.

"Yes. I asked her and tonight she accepted."

"Of course she did," she mutters under her breath.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's only been a few weeks. Don't you think you're rushing into things?"

"Elena, I'm serious. Leave her and our relationship the fuck alone."

"What is her problem?"

"You. What we were. What we did. She doesn't understand."

"Make her understand."

"She's not my submissive."

"Of course not." She runs her finger along the edge of her glass. Her eyes downcast to the amber liquid, almost searching for answers there.

"Besides, why would I want to taint her with our fucked up relationship? She's good and sweet and innocent, Elena. And by some miracle she loves me."

"It's no miracle." She reaches out and tries to brush my face, but I pull away. With nowhere to go, her hand finds her glass on the counter again. "You really are a catch. I've told you so, often. Have a little faith."

"I'm trying."

"She seems lovely. Someone who can stand up to you."

"Ironic, huh?"

She and I both have to laugh at that one.

"Don't you miss it?" she asks, looking up at me. She sounds too hopeful. And a cringeworthy thought crosses my mind—she came here tonight to convince me that I do.

"That's really none of your fucking business," I say.

"Christian, it's who you are. Who you've always been. If Anastasia truly cares for you, she should understand what you need."

As if a ghost has found shelter in my spine, I shiver.

"I think you'd better go, now," I say.

"What's gotten into you? I'm just talking. Like we do."

"I mean it, Elena. Go." I stand. "And call before you come next time."

"Why are you so sensitive?"

"Elena, we have a business relationship. One that has profited us both. But, I won't have you meddling. Our relationship is in the past. Anastasia is my future. I won't jeopardize that in any way, so cut your fucking crap!"

"I see." She takes one last sip, and then stands to ready her things.

"Look, I'm sorry for your trouble," I soften. "Perhaps you should ride it out. I can have Welch look into it—"

"I don't want to lose you, Christian," Elena blurts out as she reaches over and takes hold of my arm.

"I'm not yours to lose." I shift away.

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"I don't want to argue with you. Your friendship means a lot to me. I'll back off from Anastasia. I just need you in my life. You're the only true friend I have. And I'm yours."

"Anastasia thinks I saw you last Saturday after she left me. You called. That was all. Why did you lie?"

"I just wanted her to know how upset she made you. That she couldn't hurt you again. And if she did, there would be hell to pay."

"It's not your place."

"Okay. I overstepped. I won't bother her anymore. I'm sorry."

"Honestly, you're like a mother hen."

"That's exactly it. I've known all of your subs and I don't know Anastasia at all. I just want to be friends with her, but she hates me. I understand, but..." She sighs and then leans in to adjust my flipped up collar that Ana is surely responsible for. "I guess it would've been easier for me if the girl you fell for had been Leila."

I pull away, sharply. Why the fuck did she mention Leila?

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I ask. She's watching me like she's witnessed Jekyll become Hyde.

"Exactly what it does. Why so touchy?" She fixes her handbag strap over her shoulder.

"Have you heard from her? Tell me!"

"No. Should I have? Is there something wrong?" She looks genuinely confused. Perhaps I overreacted.

"No. Forget it." I shake my head. "I'll speak to you tomorrow."

"Yes," she says as I call for the elevator. "And I'll contact you next time, before I come over."

I nod and she gives me a kiss on the cheek before making her way inside the doors. I watch as they close, slowly hiding her frame behind their steel, inch by inch, until she's gone, and I'm left with only my reflection in the metal. Something deep inside me tells me this will be the last time I see her like this. It's not a sentimental feeling or one of profound loss. It's a sort of ending to something I haven't really figured out just yet.

I pull out my handkerchief and wipe the lipstick off my cheek. As I look down at the stain of it on the white cloth, I can't shake the feeling that I've seen this shade of red before.

"She's gone," I say as I enter the bedroom and see Ana all curled up on my side of the bed. Fuck, I hope she's not too pissed. Maybe she's over hating Elena and she still wants sex.

"Will you tell me about her?" Ana asks. Yeah, I can forget about the sex.

"Why?" I rub my face with both hands.

"I'm trying to understand why you think she helped you." She sits up further. "I loathe her. I think she did you untold damage. You don't have friends. Did she keep you away from them?"

"Ana, stop! Why do you need to know this?" I ask, not realizing the strength of my tone until I see the result on her face. I attempt to soften. "We had a long standing arrangement. She beat me and fucked me in ways you couldn't even imagine."

"Then, why do you care about her?"

"She's my friend," I shrug. It is my only explanation. It used to feel like a good one.

"Is she?" She knots up her hands and looks to her fingers.

"Ana, please!"

"I'm sorry," she says, though I get the feeling that if I ever want to see her eyes, or other body parts again, I have to talk. Fuck.

"What do you want to know?" I sigh, sitting down beside her.

"You don't have to tell me, it's okay."

"Anastasia, it's not that. I don't like talking about this shit. I've lived in a bubble for years with nothing affecting me and not having to justify myself to anyone. She's always been there as a confidante. And now my past and my future are colliding in a way I never thought possible."

I reach over and take her hand and she looks up at me.

"I never thought I had a future with anyone, Anastasia. You give me hope and have me thinking about all sorts of possibilities..."

Those nights on the sound come to mind. The houses that I watched while I sailed. The people behind the glass and stucco that had something I thought I never could, but secretly I desperately wanted. Elena told me that I couldn't. I believed her. That was the truth I clung to whole heartedly, even though I also believed I had no heart. I guess I knew there was a space there where it should be, but just thought it was a place filled with rage and disappointments and could-nots. But now I'm starting to think something I once deemed impossible—Elena was wrong. And the real fear lies in what else she was wrong about.

"I was listening," Ana whispers as she finds the last speckle of polish on her thumb to annihilate.

"What? To our conversation?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Well?"

She quietly watches me for a moment. At least she's looking at me. It's like a warm day turns to ice when she looks away.

"She cares for you," she finally says.

"Yes, she does. And I for her in my own way, but it doesn't come close to how I feel about you. If that's what this is about."

"I'm not jealous." She continues to pick that thumb. "You don't love her," she murmurs in question.

"A long time ago, I thought I loved her."

"When we were in Georgia...you said you didn't love her."

"That's right." I sigh.

"I don't understand." She frowns.

"I loved you then, Anastasia," I whisper.

"But, that was before you told me you couldn't ever love me. Before I left."

No, I said you couldn't love me. There's a huge difference." I put a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're the only one I'd fly three thousand miles to see."

"When did you know that you loved me?"

"Ironically, it was Elena who pointed it out. She encouraged me to take the trip."

"I don't understand. How can you have loved her and now love me?"

"Ana, what I felt for her was extremely different than what I feel for you. She helped me. I looked up to her, and in some ways I guess I still do. I'll always be grateful to her."

"Why?"

"For saving me. She taught me a great deal; to believe in myself. I'm a success because of—"

"Because of _you_," she says. "You're a success because of _you_."

I shake my head. "No, it's because she helped me to be someone else."

"And she beat the shit out of you to make this happen."

"Yes." I have to laugh. Oh Ana, if you only knew. I wanted you to, but I'm so glad you don't.

"You enjoyed that?"

"I thought I did."

"So much so you wanted to do it to others?"

"Yes. Where are we going with this?"

"Did she help you with that? Sub for you?"

"Yes." Perceptive, Miss Steele.

"Do you really expect me to like her?!"

"No. Though, it would make my life a helluva lot easier. I do understand your reticence."

"Reticence?" she explodes. Fuck, I didn't expect that. "Jesus Christian, if that were your son how would that make you feel?"

My son? I can honestly say those are terms I've never thought in. My son... no child should be so unlucky to be mine.

"I didn't have stay with her," I say. "I had a choice, too."

"Did you? You were fifteen."

"Ana, I'm not entertaining talk of her being a child molester tonight, again."

"Who's Linc?"

"Her ex-husband." I cringe.

"And Issac?"

"Her current submissive." She gives me a wide eyed look. "He's in his twenties. For God's sake, Ana!"

"He's your age."

"And?"

"Does she do this with other younger boys? Not young like Issac, young like you were."

"I don't think so." I shake my head. "Not that I've ever known. We had a very unusual set-up. She always said she wished I was older."

"Well, that's big of her."

"Ana!" I run a hand through my hair. "I was a fucked up kid—long before her. I'd probably be dead now, or in jail."

"If it were my son, I'd kill her," she says.

"I know." I grin, and oddly I find comfort in this fact.

I stand; I can't talk about this anymore. "I have to work for awhile."

She nods and I head for the door.

"A friend doesn't help you hide yourself," she says, stopping me in my tracks.

I pause for a moment and close my eyes, but don't turn back. A wave of emotion hits me as I shut the door. If I don't swim away from this feeling, I will drown. So, I swim. Though, a bit slower than I would've before. I take a moment to feel the truth of the water before escaping it.

"Sir," Taylor stops me just as I enter the great room from the hallway.

"What is it?"

"I've just been given word. Welch believes that Leila has been spotted."


	43. Chapter 43

"Sixth Avenue," Welch says as Taylor and I converse with him on speaker phone in my study. "Sidewalk. With a cup of Seattle's best."

"Are we fucking playing Clue? Speak in full English sentences!" Jesus, he takes the role of gumshoe seriously. It's like he stuck his foot in his mouth, sucked a wad right off the bottom and blew.

"She was seen on surveillance from a store window, standing on the sidewalk."

"How did you find this?"

"We've been scoping the area around Susannah's place out ever since she was spotted there. A friend in security tipped me off that he spotted a girl that looked like the one in the picture I gave him."

"Okay. What else?" I pace, pulling again at my roots. My hair may not survive one more night of this.

"She went into a coffee shop next door. Five minutes later she came out with the cup of joe and a piece of paper that she crumpled up and threw into the gutter. After that, she walked out of frame and disappeared from surveillance."

"And?"

"And... Of course, I'm not above digging in the gutter."

"That's why I hired you."

"We found the paper—a receipt. It was soaked with dirty rain water, but we could see she bought a large dark roast black coffee."

"What the fuck is the point of this? We know she's highly caffeinated and she litters?"

"We could also make out the last digits of the number of the card she used to pay for the coffee. We used our questionably legal resources to track it."

"She paid by credit card?" I ask, surprised. "I thought her husband cut her off. She has no mailing address or job, how could she get one on her own so fast?"

"It was a pre-paid card."

"Oh. So?"

"So, we were able to track her other purchases. That valentine she sent you, the stationery, some personal odds and ends. She bought roses four days ago that you may be getting the dead versions of shortly." He pauses, so I know the drama is coming. He loves doing that shit. "The thing is, the card was first purchased in Seattle just hours after she slit her wrist in your apartment and not used until two days later."

"What are you saying?"

"She was in the hospital when the card was purchased. Now, either she swiped it off someone later, or someone gave it to her. Either way, we know she didn't buy it herself."

"Can't you track who bought the card?"

"Bought with cash.

"Is that odd?"

"Not especially, seeing that a person who wants to buy one might not have a card of equal value to charge it on. Or, they don't want to leave a paper trail. Or, they're buying it as a gift..." He's got that suspicious edge to his voice again.

"What are you saying?"

"I dunno. Maybe she lifted it from Susannah's place when she was there, or found it, or even outright stole it off a stranger. Who fucking knows. The only scenario that worries me is someone else being involved."

"Did you look at Susannah's place again? Is Susannah back?"

"We looked. No one is there. We have the team monitoring it. But, I don't think Susannah is suspect in this. She's been away this whole time. And from everything we know about her she's a decent person. It would be a pretty fucked up individual to bankroll a mental patient's agenda."

My mind keeps replaying Elena saying Leila's name to me earlier. That she wished I had fallen for her. That Leila would understand. Why did she bring up a woman I hadn't been with for so long?

"What happens now?" I ask, shaking my head and rubbing my eyes, trying to rid myself of those dark thoughts, but they won't go away.

"We're really close, Grey. We've got the area covered. When she makes a charge again, we've got her."

"Good work. Update me when you find out more." I hang up.

"This is good news, sir," Taylor says, dutifully looking on.

"It'll be good news when we find her." I move to pour myself a glass of scotch. Could Elena have done this? No. No, Elena is a lot of things, but she wouldn't risk bringing anyone harm. Well, not unless it was contractually agreed upon first. And she would never risk my exposure like this. She was beside herself with that bullshit blackmail note earlier, and she knows if something like this got out I could be destroyed.

And she's my friend...

And while all of this shit is threatening to send me to an early grave, it's Ana and how I left things with her in the bedroom that's gnawing at my gut. I tell her I love her and then I let her down.

"Taylor, can I talk to you?" I turn to him.

"Of course, sir. But don't worry, we'll find her."

"Not about that," I shake my head. "It's about something more... personal."

"Do you need more lipstick, sir?"

"No! I just need to pick your brain."

"Alright, Mr. Grey," he says slowly, cautiously. Like I'm a one of those bears that somehow makes his way down from the mountain, out into civilization and winds up in a neighborhood pool. I guess in some odd version of a metaphor, I am.

"What do you think of me, Taylor?" I ask, the scotch burning my throat as it goes down. I've never asked anyone their opinion of me before, aside from Flynn and of course, Elena. But, they're always at odds and I usually break the tie with my own self loathing. I guess I need a neutral observation. Well, as neutral as a man who practically wipes my spitter and shitter everyday can be.

"What I think of you, sir?"

"I mean it. Speak freely. Your job's not in jeopardy." I sit on the edge of my desk and nurse the scotch.

"I think you're a good man, Mr. Grey."

"I told you, I'm not going to fire you."

"That is the truth, sir. I didn't say you were perfect, or especially pleasant all of the time, but I do believe that. In fact, you are one of the most honest men I've known."

"Honest?" I ask, a bit dumbfounded by this observation of my character. I don't feel honest. In fact, I feel all I am is a lie. A good one, but still a lie.

The etched placard on the shelf just over Taylor's shoulder catches my eye.

"_A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled."_

That was the quote I rattled off to Ana during the interview as she was calling me on my shit. From day one, hour one she did that. And here, I thought I sounded so smart. So together. So in control. The fact that I was already losing my fucking mind over her as I was saying it is not lost on me.

That placard hung on the wall of my dormitory at Harvard. I read it every morning before classes and every night before bed, like a meditation or a prayer. It was my mantra. If I could be that, I could be something. Now, it sits on a shelf next to the photo of Ana and I that I cut out of the Seattle Times and framed. I loved that quote, and once I left school and was no longer a submissive, I lived it. Only, I didn't find that quote, or that placard for myself. Elena did.

"You are always at your very best and very worst, Mr. Grey, brutally honest. And that makes you easy to trust. I think all of your employees see that."

"Taylor, give up the drinking." I look down at my glass. Oh yeah, I'm the only one drinking here.

"Mr. Grey, I'm not sure what you want from me."

"You think I fucking know? That's why I'm asking. I don't know about any of this." I take another sip and then set the glass on my desk. I watch my finger as it strokes the rim, round and round. "I asked Anastasia to move in with me."

"Oh, Mr. Grey."

"It's full time, not just on weekends. The real deal. Who would've thought..." I pause and take a breath. "Mrs. Lincoln thought it was too soon."

"Mrs. Lincoln thinks a lot of things," Taylor says, sternly and more abruptly than I expected.

"You're not a fan?" I look up.

"That's not my place to say, sir." He re-folds his hands behind his back and straightens, but I can see he's clenching his jaw.

"Just speak your mind. Please."

"I don't know her well. But, I've known you for over four years now, sir. And, if someone had told me before that you would one day have the capacity to be the man I've seen with Miss Steele, well... I'd have believed them."

"You believe in fairy stories." I smirk.

"I've never been accused of that before, sir. Though, I've read them with my daughter, so I recognize the signs of a classic tale." His lips lift at the edges, and although it looks to be that a dinner of beans and hard cheese is settling in, I know it's a grin. But, then he quickly grows serious. "Be careful of Mrs. Lincoln's advice, sir. She's doesn't seem to me the kind of woman who accepts a seat in the second row easily."

"Thank you, Taylor."

"Of course, sir." He nods and then leaves.

I take a final drink and then start to go to find Ana, but something pulls me back to the placard before I leave. I don't know if it's the scotch or Elena being here tonight or the tension of the evening, but I need to read it again, out loud. The words so alive to me once now feel only faintly nostalgic. Like a toy you clung to as a child that you've pulled from a trunk in the attic. The memory of what it meant to you is there, but no longer is the boy.

And then I look to the photo of Ana and I. The placard and the frame on the shelf feel at odds to me now—the great lie of me and the deepest truth. And I don't like the words Elena gave me standing next to Ana.

I pick up the placard and turn it over. The words are left facing the wood of a shelf that once crowned them king, and only the truth remains. Only Ana.

"Ana," I whisper as I enter the bedroom. It's dark and quiet, so she must be asleep. I make my way to the bed. I need to crawl in next to her, to hold her, to make love to her. I need the love we made at the hotel. As I reach the edge and move to turn back the covers, I gasp when I don't feel her there.

"Ana!" I switch on the nightstand lamp. The bed is empty, as is the room. I dart up and make my way to the bathroom.

Nothing.

The closet?

No one.

She's not here!

I race out, searching the great room and the kitchen. It's dark and lifeless. Could Leila have gotten in here again and done something? Or did Ana leave?

I take the stairs up, two at a time, in the off chance she went to the old sub room for something Taylor forgot, but it's empty.

Ana's gone.

I search for breath as I clutch the rail at the top of the stairs that is the only thing that serves to steady me. Of course she left, you fucking moron! She agreed to move in and then realized what life with you would really entail. All that shit with Elena tonight. I swear I'll fucking kill Elena!

I have to go find Ana!

Just as I'm about to rush for my keys and fly to the garage, I notice a light on, coming from underneath the library door. I go to open it and inside I find heaven. Ana, asleep, in the most exquisite satin negligee, with an open book spread across her chest. Rebecca, I smile, as I lift it from her and put it away.

I then sink to my knees and with my head resting in her lap, I offer up my gratitude to whoever above will hear me that my Ana is still here.

"Baby," I move to pick her up and she stirs. "I couldn't find you." I lift her and cradle her to my chest. It feels so good to hold her there.

"What?" she murmurs sleepily, wrapping her arms around my neck and dipping her head into my shoulder.

"You'd fallen asleep, that's all." I kiss her hair. "But, you're still here with me."

"I told you I won't leave you," she murmurs, and I smile. Though, she promised me that lost in dreams once before, and she still did.

I carry her to our bed and gently place her on the side of it that used to be my favorite, but that she has since claimed. I then cover her, making sure her pillow is propped the way she likes and she's tucked in warm.

"Sleep, baby," I say, and I kiss her forehead and then stroke her hair as she nods off again.

I watch her for a moment, sitting on the edge of the bed. She looks the same as that first night I watched her, yet also different. Even though it was just five weeks ago, she was so much a girl then and I was so much whatever the fuck I was. I feel responsible for much of the innocence she's lost. Not all bad, as I see her more confident in her body and her pleasure, and the way she expresses that with me. But, I've also led her down a dark path. And I hate myself for that.

She doesn't remember that night at the Heathman, but she drunkenly asked me, as I was removing her vomit ridden clothes and dressing her for bed, why a man like me wasn't with the most beautiful girl of my dreams, on top of the world, sipping champagne? She immediately slumped back onto the bed and passed out again before getting her answer. But, I sat down next to her and whispered as I stroked her hair, "Because, she's already had too much tonight."

"Come, sleep," Ana murmurs and stirs.

I take off my clothes quickly, slip on a pair of pajama bottoms and crawl in beside her. Wrapping my arms around her, I pull her close to me. Her hair is in my face, my arm is falling asleep, and the heat of her body is making me sweat.

And sleep has never been so sweet.

#######

I wake with a start. My phone is buzzing on the nightstand as Ana still sleeps in my arms. I shift, and with my best effort not to wake her I scramble to look, hoping it's news from Welch. It's not Welch, it's fucking Elliot.

"What's wrong?" I whisper as I leave the bedroom and close the door quietly behind me.

"Why are you whispering?" he whispers.

"It's two o'clock in the morning," I say as I read a wall clock.

"It is?"

"Are you drunk?"

"Of course! But, I'm also in Bar-ba-dos," he sounds it out. "So it doesn't count. It's six in the morning. I just got to my room."

"Where's Kate?"

"In her room. Dude, her father is here. I don't need my face kicked in for shacking up. We connect other times."

"Why the hell are you calling me?"

"I had this thought today, man. It scared the shit out of me."

"Well, I know it's an anomaly to you, but thoughts are normal occurrences in the human mind."

"No, I mean it. I never had it before." He takes a big breath. Is he going to hurl? "I think I like Kate."

"You're on vacation with her, and you've been fucking her non-stop for a month. I hope so."

"No, I mean like her like her. Like I was thinking about Christmas and shit after we fucked earlier. Who does that? The only holiday I ever thought about after fucking was Independence Day."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because six weeks ago your dick was dead and now it's like Jesus, man."

"Elliot, you need to pass out so you don't remember any of this and so I can pretend not to."

"I haven't even looked at another chick in a bikini. And there aren't Seattle bikinis here. They're hard core South American dental floss. I don't even want to look, 'cause I want to keep looking at Kate. Is that how you feel, man? Or do I have an island born disease?"

"I wouldn't put any of the words together you used to describe it, but yes, it's true for me, too. With Ana."

"Yeah, but you never looked at tits before, so you don't know the depth of this shit. I've probably seen a hundred pairs. Shit, that's two hundred tits! Now, forgotten!"

"Are you done?

"I'm sorry, man. But, serious. Do you feel like you like Ana? Like Christmas fantasy like?"

I hate telling my brother any personal information, but something in me wants to scream this out loud.

"Don't tell Kate yet, or Ana will kill me for breaking the news, especially with their living situation and all, but... Ana's going to live with me."

"Shut the front door!"

"Yes. I asked her. She accepted."

"You mean in your house?"

"No, I'm moving in with Kate and Ana, we'll share a microwave and utilities, maybe a Netflix membership—of course to my penthouse," I say. "And I do think of Christmas. We'll do it up this year." He's quiet for a moment. "Elliot, are you still there?"

"My mind is blown. I like a girl and the Grinch liberated Whoville."

"Get some rest, Elliot." I shake my head. "And I think you should tell Kate how you feel. You'd be surprised how nice it is when—"

I hear him snoring. I hang up.

I've never felt close to my brother before, but right now I strangely do. The most we ever talked about in the past was baseball and him being an idiot. We just had a heart-to-heart of sorts about girls. And I stop and marvel for a moment how quickly my whole world has opened up.

I'm awake now. Getting back to sleep will be hard, as my mind keeps focusing on tomorrow. Will it be as bad and as wonderful and as uneasy again as it was today? I've always known exactly how my days would play out in the past, give or take a drop in the markets or a global disaster. But, now I'm so unsure. And it's terrible and breathtaking and amazingly, beautifully, tragically complicated all at once. And I feel alive.

I head to the piano to play, closing the lid so as not to disturb her. I decide on a somber piece out of my bevy of usual selections. I wonder if I should select something more upbeat to play for Ana sometime. I have on occasion played musical pieces by myself. Not full on Showboat shit, but I have an embarrassing affinity for a sad, soulful ballad. Would she think it was weird for me to play and sing a piece from Cats or Les Mis? Probably. There's enough to scare her away from me. I don't want it to be because of my breaking out into show tunes.

The music takes me away, as it always does. It allows me escape on the backs of the chords. Just as I reach the crescendo, I catch a glow of white out of the corner of my eye. An angel appears dressed in white satin and she's coming my way. The music leaves me and I pause, my fingers immediately stilled on the keys as all my attention is now paid to her.

"Why did you stop?" Ana asks as she reaches me at the bench. "It was lovely."

"Do you have any idea how exquisite you look?" I ask, not able to peel my eyes from her.

"Come to bed," she whispers and my dick instantly hardens. She still wants me... And, I want this woman here and now.

I reach out my hand for her, and when she takes it, I tug her and pull her into my lap. I wrap my arms around her and hold her to me. She's so warm and smells so sweet.

"Why do we fight?" I nuzzle her neck.

"Because we're getting to know each other," she says as I nibble at her lobe. Her breath hitches and she shifts in my lap over my erection. Fuck, I'm so hard. "That, and you're stubborn and cantankerous and moody and difficult."

"Cantankerous, huh?" I look up at her and she laughs. "I am all of those things, Miss Steele." I pause and study her face as I brush a piece of hair behind her ear. "You know, it's really a wonder you put up with me at all." I sigh and dip my head to kiss her neck. "Is it always like this?"

"I don't know," she says.

"Me, neither." I twist my fingers in the knot of her robe, and in one fluid motion I pull the sash and the whole thing falls open. I run my hands down her body, over her breasts and her hardening nipples, down her chest and over her belly.

"You feel so good under this material," I say as I continue my downward path. "I can feel everything. Even this," I tug at her pubic hair, while my other hand fists in the hair at her nape. Pulling her head back, I kiss her. Really kiss her. My tongue finds hers and her moan reverberates in my throat. I then gently push her gown up, tantalizingly slow, until I'm fondling her naked behind.

I stand, not taking my eyes off hers, and then lift her onto the piano. She gasps and her feet swing and then rest firmly on the keys. The sound created by this echoes against the marble and travels up the high walls. I run my fingers up her inner thighs, just brushing against her wetness before letting go and grabbing her wrists.

"Lie back," I say as I hold her hands above her head and her body falls back and presses against the cool black of my piano.

I release her hands and run mine back down her body, fisting the edges of her gown and pushing it up until she's fully exposed.

"Oh Christian," she breathes as I start to kiss my way up her thighs, over her knee and to my—and her— desired destination. Her feet dance across the keys and the music they play is the fucking best thing I've heard—a concerto of her impending orgasm.

I nuzzle her, brushing my nose and lips up and down her slit. She smells so good and her wetness is as always, honey. I have to hold her hips and still her when my tongue first finds her clit. I then spread her legs wider so she's completely open to me, and I devour her sweet pinkness.

"Please, Christian," she moans and bucks against me.

"No, not yet, baby," I say as I continue my torture, licking and blowing, bringing her just to the brink when I suddenly stop.

"No," she pants. And if looks could kill...

"This is my revenge," I say as I trail kisses up her belly. "Argue with me and I'll take it out on your body somehow." I circle her navel with my tongue as my hands travel downward until my thumbs find her again. She tilts her head back, her eyes shut tight as I push one thumb inside of her as I continue to massage her swelling bud with the other.

She's completely at my mercy.

"Christian," she cries out in sinful torment as she moves against my thumb.

Damn, I need to fuck her.

I stop, lift her, and slide her up the piano. The satin against the wood is stunning and the girl even more.

I quickly drop my pajama pants and grab a condom from the stash in a drawer I've set aside for surprises just like this, and then rush back to her. Ripping the foil with my teeth, I make quick work of fixing it on my length.

I look down at her, stroking myself in response to her image. My Ana. My everything. And though I want to fuck her brains out, I need our newfound lovemaking even more.

"I want you so badly," I say as I crawl up onto the wood and hover over her.

"I want you, too," she says. I close my eyes to take those words in and let them absorb. And when I open them again, I'm on fire for her.

"I love you so much, baby," I say as I slowly push myself inside of her. And as I reach her depths, I realize this is the first time we've made love since I first said those words earlier this evening. So, with every thrust I want to show her how I feel, what she does to me.

"I love you so much, too," she says and I'm completely undone. I pump faster and faster as she twists her fingers in my hair, moving in time with my rhythm, and together we violently explode.

#######

"Do you drink coffee or tea in the evening?" Ana asks as she lays sprawled across me, her head resting against my chest as I stroke her hair. This is closer than I've ever been comfortable with before, but not tonight. Tonight this is heaven. And my boundaries are getting to be a smaller and smaller line to cross.

"That's a strange question," I say and I notice her hands are fisted and tucked up beneath her, I'm sure to prevent herself from touching me. Why do you have to be so fucked up, Grey? She could be stroking your heart right now.

"I was going to bring some tea to your study, but then I realized I don't know what you like."

"You were? But, we just fought." I'm baffled.

"Doesn't mean I wouldn't still bring you tea."

I'm having trouble comprehending this. We fought and she wasn't going to punish me for it? She was going to show me love? And I didn't want to punish her? Well, the sex, but that was hot. That's not the same thing. Punishment in some form always made things right again for me. It re-set the clock. I never knew you were allowed to care for someone you were mad at before.

"Wine or water at night," I say. "But, maybe I should try tea." I stroke her back.

"We know very little about each other," she says and I freeze.

"I know," I say, pausing to really think about that. I know her. She doesn't know me. What happens when she does? I have a feeling that day is coming sooner than I planned.

"But, now I know what to bring you at night," she says with a hopeful lilt. And I can feel her smile spread across my chest.

**_Leila is coming! Thanks for your support and reviews! xox_**


	44. Chapter 44

**_Thank you for reading and your reviews! I'm humbled by your outpouring for this story. Honestly, I started writing it for fun and it became something more because of all of you. Definitely a lot more to come. I appreciate your patience and devotion to it. _**

**_The babies will be born in my other story next. Thank you for your patience on that. Check for updates on Grey Hearts and Flowers. _**

**_And if you haven't, check out my Thanksgiving story from last year, too! _**

**_Hope you enjoy! This is a long one for you. _**

❤️❤️❤️

"Good morning beautiful," I say as I open my eyes to greet the sun—and I'm not talking about the star at the center of the universe; I'm talking about the sleepy eyed one at the center of my own.

"Good morning beautiful, yourself," Ana purrs and stretches. She's so fucking sexy like this— her hair all tousled, no makeup and flushed from the warmth of my arms... and legs and entire torso. I'm wrapped around her, as always, and I see I've been using her breast again as my pillow. No wonder my sleep was so sound.

"You turned off your alarm," she says.

"I did?" I look over at my phone on the nightstand. I snoozed it. I never snooze it. I haven't snoozed ever, and certainly not from snoozing too much.

"Well, I must've been comfortable," I say as I stroke her breast and then lean up on my elbow to have a look at her. "Sleep well?" I touch her cheek where the pillow has creased her skin.

"Aside from the musical interlude, yes." She laughs.

"I so do love a good, long, hard interlude," I say and my cock twitches. The wood of my piano has nothing on my morning.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks.

"I always sleep well when I'm with you." I brush her lips with my fingertip and she puckers a kiss. She couldn't possibly comprehend the depth of the peace she has brought to me. The one thing money could never buy me—and believe me Flynn has astronomically tried. She's given me rest.

"No more nightmares?" she asks.

"No. Not with you."

Her brow knits together and I can see the wheels turning.

"What are your nightmares about?" she asks.

What are my nightmares about. The only person I've ever told is Flynn and even he doesn't know everything. There are details so depraved I refuse to give them voice. God, I want to be transparent with her, but how do you share something so horrific with someone you love and not affect them with it, too?

"They're flashbacks of my early childhood," I say, cautiously, as much for her as for myself. "Flynn says it's post traumatic stress of sorts. Some are vivid, some less so." I trace my finger along the path of her collarbone. Her skin instantly calms me.

"Do you wake up crying and screaming?"

"No, I never cry." Except when she left. That was the first time I've cried since I was four and they took my mother away. And I'm still struggling with the parallels.

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"I mean, I'm not going to get mired down in all that shit. I won't give it the privilege to affect me."

"But, it does." She reaches up and brushes an unruly piece of hair away from my eye. "It just waits until you're asleep."

"Not anymore." I grab her hand and kiss her fingers.

"Do you have any good memories of when you were small?" Her tone is a bit lighter now.

Good memories... I've never thought about that before. I guess the screams and bruises and burns are remembered more. So are the eyes of my mother looking away.

"She baked a cake once, on my birthday..." I can see it in my mind when I close my eyes. It must've only been a few months before she died. There were matchsticks for candles and it tasted funny because she knew as much about cooking as she did about raising a kid, but that was a good day. She was singing and happy with me. And for that one day, I didn't feel responsible for existing.

"What flavor?" Ana asks, smiling up at me as she strokes my hair.

"Chocolate," I say. "I've only recently discovered my affinity for all things vanilla." We both laugh and I lean over and nip at her ear, then inhale her sweetness.

"I remember Mia coming home," I whisper against her neck and then sit up to face her again. "That was happy. Her name was the first word I spoke to my family. She liked me." I shake my head and smile, remembering her chubby little baby face as she cooed. "I don't know why, but she laughed at me more than anyone."

"Because, you made her happy," Ana says.

"Well, I don't know about that, but I cared for her right away," I say. "And my first piano lesson with Miss Kathie. That was good. I liked banging the keys and hearing the sound of what I wanted to say come out. Plus, she had horses."

"You liked horses?"

I nod. "I liked how they ran free." I get lost for a moment, seeing those horses in my mind—a brown one named Her Majesty that I called Ma. She ate sugar from my hand. They always asked if I wanted to ride her, but I always declined. I didn't want her to think she had to do anything for me to get the sugar.

"You said Grace saved you..."

"I thought she was an angel when I saw her in the hospital all dressed in white. She was the first person I met who actually listened to me when I said no."

"What do you mean?" She re-positions herself on her pillow.

"I told her not to touch me and she didn't. And then she took me home and respected my boundaries. And if she and Carrick hadn't, I don't know where I'd be now..." That's not true; I know exactly where I'd be—I'd be dead.

"This really is deep discussion for this time of morning," I say.

"I know; I'm sorry. It's just that I've made a vow to get to know you better."

"Have you?" I smirk. "I thought you wanted to know if I drank tea or coffee."

"I want to know lots of things."

"Well, I can think of one way you can know me better." I hook my leg over top of hers and press my erection into her hip.

"I think I know you that way well enough already," she teasingly scolds, which makes me grin.

"Oh, I could never know you that way well enough." I run my hand up her leg and to her hip, the nightgown coming with me. "There are definite advantages to waking up with you." I lean in and kiss her neck.

"Don't you have to get up?" she asks as I devour her throat. "It was your alarm that was set." She gasps when I pull out her breast, find her nipple and place it between my teeth and tug.

"Not this morning." I pull back and look at her with a lascivious grin. "There's only one place I want to be up right now." I inch up her gown and run my fingers along her already wet for me slit.

"Christian!" she laughingly scolds.

I quickly grab her wrists and throw her hands overhead as I climb on top of her.

"Oh, Miss Steele, the things I'm going to do to you." Our lips and tongues meet as my fingers slide inside of her.

#######

"When do I get to see your trainer?" Ana asks as she nibbles her bacon beside me at the breakfast nook. I will never tire of seeing her do that.

"Claude?" I ask and when she nods I can't mask my grin. She's argued with me for weeks about this and now that I've completely removed the argument from my vocabulary she wants to go? I will note this in my handbook on relationships under the subject: Argument Winning Tactics. I'm serious—I'm actually writing shit to remember down in a bright red moleskin journal.

"Depends if you want to go to New York this weekend—or perhaps he could do it early one morning before work. I'll have Andrea call him."

"Who's Andrea?" she asks, and if I'm not mistaken there's a slight raise of her brow.

"My PA."

"Oh yes, one of your many blondes." She teasingly frowns, but something about it tells me it's less of the tease and more of the frown.

"She's not mine." I take her hand as she reaches for her tea, and I kiss it. "None of them are mine. You are mine." She smiles. "They work for me."

"I work for you."

"So you do."

"Maybe your trainer can teach me how to kickbox."

I arch a brow. "Are you trying to improve your odds against me, Miss Steele?" I casually brush her naked knee. Okay, it's not so casual.

"Maybe you'll have to work to keep up with me." She winks, and fuck I'm hard again.

"Bring it on." I stroke the flesh at the edge of her skirt and start to inch upward.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Mrs. Jones standing in front of us behind the counter, holding a paper sack and grinning ear-to-ear. How long has she been watching us like that? And what's with the sack?

"Yes, Gail?" I ask, and reluctantly remove my hand from Ana's leg when she shifts from the embarrassment of being caught by the staff in a compromising position, again. She has to get used to this.

"Sack lunch for today, Ana," Gail says. Oh right. But, couldn't she wait until we were finished with breakfast—and whatever else?

"Thank you, Mrs. Jones," Ana says and Gail sets it down. Gail's beaming. Either Taylor gave her the double O this morning or he told her I'd be adding a name to my mailbox effective immediately. I'd bank on the latter.

"You can set it down now, Gail," I say and she does so before excusing herself to give us the guise of privacy. But, she doesn't fool me; I know her glass is to the wall.

"Can I ask you something?" Ana asks.

"Of course." Though I take a sip of coffee to give me strength.

"And you won't be angry?"

"Is it about Elena?" I cut my eyes to her over my mug.

"No."

"Then, I will won't be angry." I set the mug down.

"But, now I have a supplementary question."

Oh fuck.

"Which is about her?" I mutter.

"Why do you get so mad when I ask about her?"

"Honest?"

"I thought you were always honest with me."

"I endeavor to be."

"That sounds evasive." She frowns.

"No, it's protective."

"Of the truth?"

"No, of my balls from your kickboxing aspirations." She cocks her head and rolls her eyes. "Look, I'm always honest with you. I don't want to play games." I put my hand on her knee again. "Well, at least not those kinds of games." I wink.

"What sort of games do you want to play?" She licks her lips. They're so plump and nice and belong between my teeth.

"Miss Steele, you are easily distracted." My cock jumps. She's distracting me so hard.

"Mr. Grey, you are easily distracting." She giggles.

"That's my favorite sound." I smile.

"What?"

"My favorite sound in the whole wide world is your giggle, Anastasia." I'm grinning as I look at her, and I also realize I have my elbow propped on the counter and my chin is resting on my palm like one of those lovesick kids in homeroom. The ones with four eyes, a mouth full of metal and dreams of playing house with the pretty girl in the seat beside. "Now, what was your original question?" I shift and sit up before I also start to drool.

"Oh yes. You only saw your subs on the weekends?"

"Yes, that's correct." Fuck, why is she bringing this up? She's buttering her toast with a knife. Careful, Grey, she's armed.

"So you only ever had sex on weekends?" She whispers sex like it's a dirty word.

"Oh, that's where this is headed." I let out my captured breath, realizing that it's Tuesday and we've had sex all over the calendar. "Why do you think I work out so hard five days a week?" I laugh.

"Well, good," she says and her elaborate buttering is no longer harried, but done with a sense of glee now.

"You seem quite pleased with yourself."

"I am, Mr. Grey." She's done buttering and sets the toast back down onto her plate to take a sip of tea. Why isn't she eating the toast? She spent all that time buttering it and just set it down? Isn't there a moral statute against that?

"You should be. Now eat your breakfast. There's far too little carbohydrate consumption going on there."

"Yes, Sir." She picks up the toast, parts her lips and demonstratively pushes a corner into her mouth, then rips the edge with her teeth. A dusting of crumbs spill onto her lips and fall like a fine seven grain rain onto her breasts. If this wasn't enough to make me spill something of my own, I am completely undone when she licks a thick smear of butter from the corner of her mouth.

Wow.

Who knew breakfast could be so wildly pornographic.

#######

"Ethan Kavanagh is arriving today, sir," Taylor says as we wait in the foyer for Ana before we head to work. She said she was going to grab a sweater. She must be looking for it in Canada, as she's taking north of forever. Taylor and I have been left waiting here, overcoats on, stroking our umbrellas for far longer than either of us is comfortable with. I take that back, Taylor seems pretty damn comfortable.

"Who the fuck is that?" I ask.

"Miss Steele's friend and Katherine Kavanagh's brother. The one you told me to track, sir."

Oh hell, that's right— Surfer Curls. "I forgot, he has to pick up keys from Ana today." Why can't she fucking mail them to him? Or leave them under the mat? Why is there this whole handing off of the brass like it's a ceremonial transfer of power or something? And why isn't he still in Barbados with the whole clan right now getting shitfaced? I know exactly why—he plotted this before he ever knew about me in an effort to get Ana alone in that apartment to devirginize her.

"Should I deliver the keys to him, Mr. Grey?"

"Yes. I mean, no. Let me talk to Anastasia about it first." The last thing I need is a fight. She's liable to run off and spend the night at that apartment with the predator just to spite me.

"I'm ready," Ana says as she comes back with a navy blazer, wearing different shoes, and carrying no sweater. What the hell?

"Why do you smell so good?" I ask and whiff around her. "You're wearing exotic perfume." I gasp. "To work. With that creep."

"I'm wearing hand lotion. And it's Country Apple. From the mall."

"Exactly. And now you'll be soft and smelling like a hayride. Do you know what that image conjures up in a man?"

"Good. You can think about it all day." She pulls the handkerchief out of my jacket, wipes the palms of her still moist hands on it, and then places it back in my pocket and grins.

Fuck, Grey. She so owns you.

"Come, let's get to work before I do," I say as I put my arm around her and lead her to the parting elevator doors.

#######

"Didn't you say your _former_ roommate's brother was arriving today?" I ask, casually, as we ride hand-in-hand in the back of the Audi on the way to work. I paid special attention to enunciating the _former_ as I am her _current_ roommate as of late and forever.

"Oh that's right! Ethan!" she says and actually throws a hand over her mouth in shock. "I totally forgot! Thank you for reminding me!" Oh shit, why did I remind her? "I'll have to go back to the apartment at some point."

"What time?" I fail to hide my disapproval.

"I'm not sure when he's arriving."

"I'm surprised he hasn't been trying to call you." I clench my jaw.

"We're friends. Like Jose."

I give her a look, but chose to bite my tongue on the matter. Literally. Like, I think I drew blood.

"I don't want you going anywhere on your own," I say, and then squeeze her hand.

"I know," she says. "Will Sawyer be spying—I mean patrolling today?"

"Yes, he will. And I don't want any pastrami funny business, either." I swear, I'm thinking of buying that deli and permanently closing it by noon. It brings nothing but heartache.

"If I was driving the Saab all of this would be easier. I could go to the apartment quickly—"

"No, Sawyer will take you. He has car enough to get you there and back at a moment's notice."

"Okay, Ethan will probably contact me today. I'll let you know what the plans are." And I am castrated. Since when am I reliant on another idiot's plans? Especially one named Kavanagh.

"Okay," I agree, begrudgingly. "Nowhere on your own. Please, promise me."

"Yes, dear." She playfully bats her lashes.

"I mean it, Ana." I've debated telling her about the bandages and the notes, but I decided against it. The details will only serve to frighten her. It's my job to protect her, and that includes keeping anything that could cause her pain at bay. Right? And truth be told, there's a terrified part of me that doesn't want her to know firsthand what I've done to a woman. The words and the blood would make all that come to life. "She is a really sick person with a gun. Don't tempt fate."

"Okay, I won't," she says, observing me. I don't know exactly what she's looking for, but I fear she sees it.

"And use your BlackBerry. If not for me, then for the poor IT guy who has to deal with the fallout."

"Yes, Christian," she says and rolls those beautiful eyes.

"Why, Miss Steele, I do believe you've caused my palm to twitch." I crack a smile.

"And what are we going to do about your predicament?" She twists her lips in amusement.

"Well, we could take care of it right here and now..." My finger is on the button to roll the divider window up when my phone buzzes.

Fuck! I have to take it. It could be Welch with news.

I whip my phone out of my pocket and look at the caller ID. Oh Christ, it's Elena. I let it go to voicemail, but she immediately calls back. That's strange. She's usually reluctant to appear so needy. Unless something's really wrong...

"What is it?" I answer fast.

"Oh Christian, I'm so glad I got ahold of you. Don't talk to Welch. It was my mistake. The note is a fake." She sounds so flustered. I had actually completely forgotten to talk to Welch about her problem and I probably never would've remembered had she not called. So much bothersome shit I'm forgetting and unfortunately remembering today—and all of it's blonde. But, all that aside, why does she sound so odd?

I look over to Ana. She's watching me, but fire hasn't scorched her pupils yet, so she must not suspect it's Elena.

"How so?" I ask Elena. Short, emotionless sentences for Ana's ears are the key to my foil.

"It was Issac. He cooked up the whole thing."

"You're kidding. It was part of a scene?" I ask and I can see Ana's interest is perked by that. Fuck. Why did I have to mention a scene? Perhaps she'll think I'm talking to an actor. Yeah right, she knows I'd sooner tweeze my ball hairs with half speed pulls than do that.

"Yes. He's just mischievous, I suppose." Elena laughs. Why is she laughing? If I did anything like that back in the day I'd be lucky if I could sit down by Christmas and my ass could most definitely guide the sleigh.

"When did he tell you this?" I ask.

"This morning. When I told him about the note, just like you thought I should."

"Well, that's good news. The situation was diffused quickly."

"I'm so sorry to have worried you."

"I wasn't really. It seemed like a ridiculously low amount of money," I say. "And I'm sure you'll exact your revenge. If that's all—"

"We could have lunch today," she says dizzyingly quick. "There's so much more to discuss. And I have some concerns at the downtown shop I'd love your advice on. Plus, I haven't had any real time alone with you in so long. Shall we do our usual table at Mile High?"

"Another time. I have to go now."

"She's there, I take it," Elena mutters, and though it's subtle, I recognize the venom.

I hang up. I would've told her to shut the hell up and leave Ana out of it, but that would've alerted the blue eyes looking up at me and World War III would begin.

"Who was that?" Ana asks, her brow arched.

"Do you really want to know?"

She looks at me, shakes her head quickly and turns to look out her window.

"Hey," I say as I pick up her hand and kiss her fingers. "Don't sweat this, Ana." I put the end of her pinky in my mouth, suck on it a little and then nibble the tip. "She's in the past."

"She seems ever present to me," she says as she crosses her legs away from me.

Taking her hand, I lean in to whisper in her ear, "Ana, please let's not fight." I kiss her at that place on her throat where I can feel her heartbeat. "Let's have a better day today," I say against her flesh.

"Okay," she breathes and I tip her chin up to kiss her.

We pull up to her building and I kiss her once more before Taylor opens her door and Sawyer pops out to escort her inside. As I watch the swish of her ass and the bounce of her hair move toward the building, I pull out my handkerchief and inhale the scent she left for me. A hayride on my mind as the girl who smells of apples—sinful and sweet— disappears behind the glass doors.

Oh what it all does to a man.

########

"Why does my office look likes it's hosting my wake?" I ask Andrea, as we survey an explosion of oddly mixed flowers in towering arrangements, bottles of Scotch and boxes of Cuban cigars all over my desk.

"The South Korean group," Andrea says. "They wanted to send you an olive branch of sorts."

"Well, they sent the whole fucking tree and the party underneath it. Why?"

She hands me a note, which I read:

"_Mr. Grey,_

_We commend your passion and dedication to this project. We hope we did not offend you yesterday, as it was not our intention. We have decided to stop further debate on our end and move forward with the sound plan that you proposed, as long as the amendments we put forth and you signed off on are still included._

_We hope you enjoy the gifts and use them to celebrate our future together."_

What the fuck? I walked out on them and that's why I got the deal? I should let my personal life get involved in my business more often. Though, I'm not sure what kind of man they take me for. Do they really think I want to spend the day drinking hard, smoking and staring at odd flowers in celebration of our union?

"This is good, Andrea. Get me Welch on the phone." I look around. "And, redistribute all this." I wave my hand at my booty. Not my booty, the booty, which is also mine.

"What would you like me to do with it, sir?"

"I don't know." I think about having all the flowers sent to Ana at work, but she'll get upset with me for embarrassing her and these are so not up to the standards Armando has set for me in the bloom department, so it would embarrass me, too. "Distribute them amongst yourselves."

"Very well, sir." She leaves and shuts the door behind her.

"Why is there no news?" I ask Welch once I've got him on the line. I think he's eating breakfast as I can hear his uneven dental work grinding and I can practically smell his breath through the phone line.

"Because nothing has happened."

"That wasn't the question."

"Yeah, it was."

"I'm fucking serious."

"So am I. We're close, but no cigar yet," he says as a hundred of the smelly things sit in boxes in front of me. "There have been no sitings. No more charges on her plastic. It's like she disappeared off the radar."

"Fuck. Why do you think?"

"I don't know. She's probably indoors doing her voodoo arts and crafts projects. It's only nine a.m."

"Well, if we knew where indoors was, we could get her outdoors and through the hospital doors."

"The day is young. We're monitoring everything closely. We'll find her." He yawns.

"Why are you yawning?"

"Because I was up half the night on this case."

"Well, you're going to be full the fuck up until you find her!" I hang up. That fucker is pissing me off. Always eating and sleeping.

I sip the coffee Andrea has left for me on my desk. It's tepid and contains a flavored creamer. I hate flavored creamers. Especially the ones that taste like some indeterminable version of a holiday nut or gourd, which all taste like past-its-shelf-life cinnamon. Why the hell am I drinking this shit in June?

I look at the clock and my mood lifts when I delightedly realize it's time for my new favorite part of the work day—emailing Ana.

"_I love waking up with you in the morning_," I type. God, I so do. I add a cute signature and send it off quickly. My mind drifts back to the morning. How much fun it is to wake up and cuddle and fuck and cuddle again before fucking in the shower and canoodling at the breakfast bar. I've added a new favorite sport to my list—canoodling.

_Ding_!

I look at my screen.

_From: Anastasia Steele_

_Subject: Sundown_

_Date: June 14 2011 09:35_

_To: Christian Grey_

_Dear Completely &amp; Utterly Smitten,_

_I love waking up with you, too. But I love being in bed with you and in elevators and on pianos and billiard tables and boats and desks and showers and bathtubs and strange wooden crosses with shackles and four-poster beds with red satin sheets and boathouses and childhood bedrooms._

_Yours_

_Sex Mad and Insatiable xx_

Holy shit. I nearly choke on my coffee. I have to check to make sure I didn't actually come in my pants after reading all that. Shackles and wooden crosses and red satin sheets... Is she trying to tell me something? That she wants to?

No, don't go there, Grey.

_From: Christian Grey_

_Subject: Wet Hardware_

_Date: June 14 2011 09:37_

_To: Anastasia Steele_

_Dear Sex Mad and Insatiable,_

_I've just spat coffee all over my keyboard._

_I don't think that's ever happened to me before._

_I do admire a woman who concentrates on geography._

_Am I to infer you just want me for my body?_

_Christian Grey, Completely &amp; Utterly Shocked CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._

I send it off and quickly receive:

_From: Anastasia Steele_

_Subject: Giggling—and wet too_

_Date: June 14 2011 09:42_

_To: Christian Grey_

_Dear Completely &amp; Utterly Shocked_

_Always._

_I have work to do._

_Stop bothering me._

_SM&amp;I xx_

I take out my handkerchief and sniff. Oh how I dream of harvesting that orchard. I wonder if I could sneak her away at lunchtime for quickie.

_From: Christian Grey_

_Subject: Do I have to?_

_Date: June 14 2011 09:50_

_To: Anastasia Steele_

_Dear SM&amp;I,_

_As ever, your wish is my command._

_Love that you are giggling and wet._

_Laters, baby._

_x_

_Christian Grey, Completely &amp; Utterly Smitten, Shocked, and Spellbound CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._

Was the _spellbound_ too corny? Probably. But, it's the truth. And I can't think of a more manly word for the swirling hypnotic state of bliss I'm caught up in.

#######

Do you have a cold?" Ros asks me as we sit in the conference room waiting for our meeting to arrive.

"Why would you say that?" I ask.

"Because you keep wiping your nose on that thing." She points to the handkerchief in my hand. Fuck, I didn't notice I had it out again. It's become a reflex.

"Allergies," I say as I put it back in my jacket pocket.

"I've never seen anyone so happy with their allergies before." She smirks. "Or their little hanky."

"Hilarious," I say and she laughs like she thinks it is.

"The team from TEK Partners is here," Andrea pops in and announces, and in reaction to my nod she sends them in—five of the most sour faced, suited up, asshats I've seen. It's like rain is their parade.

"Good afternoon, gentleman," I say as I stand and shake the CEO's hand.

"Yes, it's an afternoon alright," the CEO grumbles and then puts his briefcase on the table. "Shall we begin or shall we all chase our own asses?"

"Show us what you have," I say and sit back down.

What they have is the equivalent of water torture. I swear, this guy doing the presentation took public speaking lessons from a fossilized pterodactyl. It's old, you see it coming for you, but nothing happens.

About twenty minutes in, my phone buzzes. I look to the caller ID and see it's Ana.

"Hold everything," I say to the group and I'm met with odd looks and the accompanying chatter. "I have to take this."

"Anastasia," I answer, swiveling my chair away to talk to her. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"Jack asked me to get his lunch again."

"Lazy bastard." I clench my fists. I hate that he's making her run his errands for him. Doesn't he know she has a staff?

"I have to go do it," she says.

"Sawyer will do it. Give him the order and he'll bring it up."

"He can't do that."

"You'd be surprised. He's very capable at a deli."

"No, I mean I'm not having your security detail do my work for me."

"First of all, it's your detail and second of all tell Hyde to go fuck himself if he says anything. Trust me, you won't get fired. You're in good with the big boss."

"Christian!"

"Okay, fine. Sawyer will bring it to the door downstairs and you can run it up."

"What if I walked with him to the deli and got it and he walked me back."

"Why do you want to go this deli so bad?"

"Because it feels more honest," she says. What the hell? What's dishonest about a sandwich purchase by Sawyer? As long as it's piled high with fatty meat, mustard and a side of pickles that fucker will be happy. I feel sorry for any woman giving Hyde a blow job, aside from already feeling sorry for her for giving him a blow job in the first place. His cum must be rancid.

"Fine. But, you'd better not leave his side," I say.

"I promise," she says. "Are you alone?"

"No, there are six people in here wondering who the hell I'm talking to." I turn to the crowd and announce proudly, "my girlfriend."

She giggles. "They probably all thought you were gay."

"Probably." And I think the CEO looks disappointed by my announcement. Of course, he looks disappointed in general.

"I'd better go. I don't want to keep bothering you," Ana says. "You know if you'd just give me Sawyer's number I could call him myself." Oh my god. She wants to have an ongoing speaking relationship with him? No fucking way.

"It's no bother, baby. Did you hear from your friend?"

"Not yet, I'll let you know."

"Okay, I'll text Sawyer. And Ana—Later's baby." I smile into the phone. And, I can hear her smile on the other end in return.

She hangs up and I realize everyone is staring at me—especially Ros. Oh yeah, they just saw me air kiss my Blackberry.

Fuck them. I text Sawyer: Meet Ana downstairs now. If she leaves your side, your balls leave your body.

"If you're done talking about your lunchtime purchases with your girlfriend, perhaps we can continue," the CEO says, snotty as the wad he is.

"Yes," I say. "And if you're done with that bullshit you were just trying to sell us, you can start with your real presentation. Otherwise, we have no deal."

He practically gasps as I proverbially roll up my sleeves. Time to get down to fucking business.

#######

"Did she get back safely?" I ask Sawyer, talking on my phone in my office again after a long, but ultimately productive meeting. The flowers have been removed for the most part, but six bottles of Scotch and the cigars still line my desk, making me look like I'm a prime candidate for rehab. That, or mob boss.

"Affirmative, sir. We walked to the sandwich shop. She ordered the sandwich and then we walked back with the sandwich."

"Are you sure she got inside okay?"

Ding! Yeah

I look at my BlackBerry and see it's from Ana.

"Forget it. She emailed me. Good work."

I hang up and read:

_From: Anastasia Steele_

_Subject: Visitors from Sunny Climes._

_Date: June 14 2011 14:55_

_To: Christian Grey_

_Dearest Completely &amp; Utterly SS&amp;S,_

_Ethan is back, and he's coming here to collect keys to the apartment._

_I'd really like to make sure he's settled in okay._

_Why don't you pick me up after work? We can go to the apartment, then we can ALL go out for a meal maybe?_

_My treat?_

_Your Ana x_

_Still SM&amp;I_

_Anastasia Steele_

_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_

A meal? All three of us? Then, she wants me to be openly seen as her boyfriend to this guy. This is good. Not that I'm looking forward to having conversation with any member of the Kavanagh clan, but at least Surfer Curls will have to witness our canoodling first hand. We're definitely sitting on the same side of the table, like those cute couples do. Maybe I should invite him to stay in the guest room, so he can really hear us pound the headboard.

"_I approve of your plan_," I type. "_Except for the part about you paying. It'll be my treat." _Can you imagine my humiliation if I let Ana pay for all three of us? I shake my head. "_I'll pick you up at six."_

I notice the email address at the top.

"_Why aren't you using your Blackberry?!"_ I add, and then send.

She responds:

_From: Anastasia Steele_

_Subject: Bossiness_

_Date: June 14 2011 15:11_

_To: Christian Grey_

_Oh, don't be so crusty and cross._

_It's all in code._

_I'll see you at 6:00._

_Ana x_

_Anastasia Steele_

_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_

Did she just scold me? Did I just love it?

_From: Christian Grey_

_Subject: Maddening Woman_

_Date: June 14 2011 15:18_

_To: Anastasia Steele_

_Crusty and cross!_

_I'll give you crusty and cross._

_And I look forward to it._

_Christian Grey_

_Completely and Utterly More Annoyed, but Smiling for Some Unknown Reason, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._

I hit send and she quickly replies:

_From: Anastasia Steele_

_Subject: Promises. Promises._

_Date: June 14 2011 15:23_

_To: Christian Grey_

_Bring it on, Mr. Grey_

_I look forward to it too. ;D_

_Ana x_

_Anastasia Steele_

_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_

I got a winkie! An open-mouthed winkie. According to the Urban Dictionary that's even better.

But, fuck. Ethan's going to see her alone at her office.

Andrea buzzes. "Sir, Welch on line one."

"What is it, Welch?" I answer fast.

"Ms. Williams got on a bus headed to Las Vegas last night," he says.

"What the fuck? Are you sure?"

"Her ID was scanned at the station. I wasn't alerted to the purchase of her ticket, because she used a different card. But, we've discovered the card was bought at the same location, at the same time as the other one."

"Why wasn't she stopped from boarding this bus?"

"She's not on a watch list. The authorities aren't involved, as you requested, so I can't bar her from traveling. At least not legally."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"We'll be waiting for her on the other end. We got her, Grey."

"Good." I sigh and rub my brow. "She married that husband in Vegas."

"Yep. Maybe she knows someone out there. Good news is she's out of town and this case is about to be closed."

"When will you have her?"

"Bus gets there before six."

"Okay, call me then."

"Will do, Mr. Grey."

I hang up the phone and breathe a sigh of relief. Soon this nightmare will be over. At least she's heading out of the state now and can bring no harm to Ana.

I watch the clock impatiently, waiting for this day to end, so a new one can finally begin.

#######

"Kavanagh was only there for ten minutes and they met in the lobby," Sawyer says as I talk to him on my Blackberry, walking with Taylor to the car out front of GEH at the close of business.

"What do you mean ten minutes? Ten minutes total or ten minutes plus allowances for travel and circumstance?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

"Was it ten minutes of solid face-to-face interaction, or three minutes walking up to the building, two minutes checking in, two minutes exchanging pleasantries and the key, and three minutes walking out again?"

"It was just ten minutes, sir. I'm not sure how the pie was sliced up."

"Well, get sure!" I hang up.

"Thank you for the flowers, Mr. Grey!" A portly blonde woman I recognize from accounting waves in the distance, carrying the blooms Andrea passed out earlier. I nod and go on my way. Fuck, I didn't mean to insinuate to people I was being friendly.

"Anything from Welch on your end?" I ask Taylor as he pulls the car away from the curb and we drive to Ana's office.

"Nothing, sir. But, it should be any minute. It's excellent news about Ms. Williams."

"I know." I smile.

I look down at my phone. There's a text from Mia: What does the birthday boy want to do on Saturday?

I type back: Please, don't make a big deal of it.

She only responds with a happy face, so I know I'm in trouble.

Maybe Ana will want to go to New York this weekend. We could celebrate there. Although, she's celebration enough for me.

"Crusty and Cross here," I say to Ana on my phone as we pull up in front of her building.

"Well, this is Sex Mad and Insatiable here, I take it you're outside?"

"I am indeed, Miss. Steele. I'm looking forward to seeing you."

"Ditto, Mr. Grey. I'll be right down."

I hang up and lean my head back against the seat for a moment, closing my eyes as the Blackberry rests over my heart.

God, I love her.

"Should I get her, sir?" Taylor asks.

"No, I will," I say and I remove my jack and tie before Taylor opens my door and I get out to wait for her.

She's smiling as she leaves the building. I think she's happy to see me, because her pace quickens and her eyes brighten when she notices me leaning back against the car. I actually think she's checking me out. I can't take my eyes off of her. She's a dream. And I've never known dreams to be true before.

"Miss Steele, you look as captivating as you did this morning," I say when she reaches me, and I pull her into my arms and kiss her.

"Mr. Grey, so do you," she says against my lips and we're soon lost in each other. Hopefully Jack Hyde is witnessing this from his window and choking on his own bile.

"Let's go get your friend." I smile and open the door for her, and she settles inside.

"Where are we having dinner tonight?" Ana asks as I hold her hand in the backseat on the drive to her old apartment.

"Well, I wasn't sure how formal he wanted to be." Or if he was wearing actual shoes. His flip-flops don't count. "But, I have a few selections I thought he'd like." I lift her hand and kiss it.

"Don't we need reservations?"

"I never need reservations." I smirk.

"I forgot, the master of the universe is my boyfriend."

"Damn straight." I lean in to kiss her.

"You're in an exceptionally good mood this evening."

"It's just being with you." I kiss her again. "And I don't want to jinx it, but Welch is confident we'll get some good news soon on Leila."

"Does that mean I can go out on my own again?"

"No, you're with me now, so you need protection." I suddenly remember something in my briefcase. "Speaking of protection." I dig. "Kickboxing training with Claude is available at these times this week." I hand her the page Andrea printed out.

"Okay, I'll pick one." She reads it over.

As we arrive at her old apartment, my BlackBerry buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket eager for information from Welch. But, I see that it's just Ros.

"Ros, what is it?" I answer.

"The men from TEK had some questions."

"What kind of questions?"

"Mainly about compensation. Greedy bastards."

Ana is unbuckling her seatbelt and mouthing something to me I can't understand.

"Hold on, Ros." I lower the phone to listen to Ana.

"I'll go and get Ethan. I'll be two minutes," Ana says and gives me a peck on the lips.

"Okay," I say. "Taylor will watch you go in." She nods and Taylor opens her door and she makes her way up the walk.

"Tell them to go fuck themselves if they think they're getting more," I say to Ros.

I look out the window to see that Ana got inside okay. Taylor nods down to me that she did. I'm about to really go to town on these TEK idiots when Welch buzzes my phone.

"I'll call you back, Ros. I have to take this." I switch over. "Welch, what is it? Do you have her?"

"No," he says and he sounds absolutely despondent.

"What do you mean you don't have her? Did she evade you again?"

"She's not there."

"Well, she's sneaky. Maybe she's hiding out somewhere."

"She was never on the bus, Grey."

"What? I thought you said they scanned her ID?"

"They did. The person using Leila's ID and prepaid card wasn't Leila. It was some homeless girl who looked like her and was drugged out of her mind."

"What the fuck does this mean?"

"I don't know. But, Leila is still in Seattle. So we have to be on high alert."

"Why do you sound so dire?"

"I think someone set us up, Grey."

Holy shit. I take a breath. But, I can't breathe for long.

I look up and see a pair of jeans attached to a man in a sweatshirt with blonde curls walking past my window and up Ana's walk.

Oh my God.

Ethan.

I throw my phone down on the seat and burst out of the car to get to him.

"Where the hell is Ana?" I scream as I take Ethan by the shoulders and shake him.

"Christian?" he asks. What's wrong?"

"Tell me you've been inside the apartment! Fucking tell me!"

"I haven't. I just got here. I was meeting you guys," he says. "I didn't do anything."

"Stay out here," I say to Ethan and I take off running for the apartment.

"Sir, what is it?" Taylor asks, following behind me.

"Leila's still in Seattle! Welch called. She wasn't on the bus! And Ana got inside without Ethan!"

I run faster, until I reach the door and stop.

"Sir, let me go in first. I'm armed."

But, I don't listen to him. His words and everything else around me are all a blur. I have to protect my Ana.

I throw the front door open and it swings wide and hard to reveal my worst nightmare.

Ana facing Leila at the bullet end of her pointed gun.


	45. Chapter 45

_**Thank you for reading and commenting and for your devotion to this story. I love you guys. This chapter is part of an emotional journey that will play into the next. The Leila scene has been one of the hardest I've had to write. I hope I've done well by you. xox**_

The room is still, not a sound—and yet it is screaming.

I immediately look to Ana for any signs of distress. She's okay—shaken, but still okay. I let out a breath and repeat this fact in my head over and over again to calm myself. It works, until I see the shadow of the gun across her face.

I turn to Leila and there's a rage in me I'm finding difficult to contain. But, I know I must while the gun is in her hands. She holds all the power now. Wicked irony.

I wouldn't even recognize her. Her hair is long and matted, and she's lost so much weight. Her porcelain skin is now ashen; her eyes outlined in a sleepless gray. No, she doesn't look like Leila, but she is someone I know. And I gasp at the horrid realization of who that someone is—she looks exactly like my mother did before she died. What I turned her into, she has become.

I push those thoughts aside, as I don't have the luxury of hating Leila or pitying her, or feeling anything at all for the woman who bore me and then left me for dead. I need to keep Ana safe.

I notice the way Leila's eyes look up at me, and then cut away again. And the way she holds the gun with one hand and twirls a piece of hair incessantly with the other. How she shifts from foot-to-foot and rolls on the sides of her ankles. Nervous habits that she had when she first came to me, and that I trained away.

Is she trying to bait me with these things that I once reprimanded her for? I think she is. And the sad thing is I don't think she's trying to make me angry. I think she's trying to see if I still care.

My eyes bore into Leila's and she sees their fury. She's seen it countless times before, but this time it's more. The gun shakes as her fingers effort to keep hold of it. I keep glaring at her. She closes her eyes briefly and then a look of utter confusion crosses her face when she opens them again. Like she's momentarily unsure of where she is or why she's there, or who she is at all. And then she looks up to me, as if I have the answers to these questions.

I'm affecting her.

She still sees me as her Dom.

Taylor readies his weapon behind me, but I hold up a hand for him to stop. I see my opening. This is how I get the gun away.

I feel myself physically shift as I step toward Leila, and directly in between Ana and the gun. If she shoots, she shoots me. That's the easiest choice I've ever had to make, aside from abandoning everything I've ever known and inviting a girl out for coffee. My shoulders broaden and I stand taller, more in control. This is who I was with Leila. This beast. But, I'm surprised by how foreign it feels to me right now. It's like I'm stepping back into time. The players are the same, but the costume doesn't quite fit anymore. Neither does the act. And I hadn't realized I had already let so much of that go.

I continue to step toward her. As I get closer, I can see the pain in her eyes start to turn into something more serene. Her shoulders lower a fraction and her hands begin to still around the gunmetal. She dips her head slightly. She's slowly giving up her power to me and all the trouble and heartache that comes with it. Fifteen-year-old me knows the depths of that relief well.

When she peeks up at me, with contrite bloodshot eyes, I know what needs to happen next.

"Kneel," I mouth to her, authoritatively. On command, she drops to her knees, head bowed, and lets go of the gun. The crash of metal to wood echoes, and as it skids across the floor, there's an audible gasp from Ana.

"Anastasia, go with Taylor," I say as I pick up the gun from the floor and put it in my pocket, breathing a heavy sigh of relief.

"Where's Ethan?" Ana asks.

"Downstairs," I say. "Go. Now."

She still stands there. What the hell is she doing? She has to go!

"Anastasia!" I turn to her.

"I won't leave you here," she says. What? She's worried about me? She's the one that I need to keep safe!

"I'll be fine." I turn back and guard my eyes on Leila, making sure there are no sudden or unexpected moves. But, she's well into sub space now, or some other world than here. "Taylor, take Miss Steele home!"

"Yes, Mr. Grey. And I'll make the necessary calls." I nod in response. Good, he'll call Flynn and get the hospital ready. He'll get Ana to safety.

Taylor moves to Ana, but she still won't leave.

"Ana, go!" I turn to her again.

"No, I'll wait."

"I have to stay with Leila. You have to go!"

"No, I—"

"Anastasia for the love of God! Do as you're told for once!" The volume of my words is followed by profound silence.

Ana looks at me, her blue eyes filling with tears. They shift from me, down to Leila on the floor at my feet, and then back again to me. Me—a big man so small inside. I've tried to keep all this away from her, and yet here we are. She's now seen it up close. She doesn't have to say anything when she looks at me. I've been anticipating this look for some time now. I just didn't think it would be so soon.

"Ana—" I hoarsely whisper and then shut my eyes and bow my head. I don't what else to say, except her name which is everything.

There are no more words. I hear her shift, and then the measured tap of her heels across the hard wood at her feet, and then finally the creak and close of the door. And then nothing.

Ana is gone.

And now, Leila and I are alone and I feel ill.

Leila remains impassive, head bowed and palms on her knees. Just as I instructed. She's a sad little ball kneeling on Ana's rug. And it's not lost on me that a picture on the wall of a smiling Anastasia hangs above her head.

I've seen Leila like this so many times before—kneeling before me, waiting for instruction. I don't want to see her like this anymore.

"Come," I say and I try to help her up, but she falls to her knees again and resumes position, as if clinging to her place on the floor.

"Aren't you going to punish me, Sir?" Her voice shakes.

"No, I'm not," I say, and I try to pull her up again, but again she finds the floor.

I think about when I first met her. She was so young and spirited, and now she's a mess of rags and upset and bones. She's been broken. Did I break her? Or maybe I didn't do the full job, but I certainly made the cracks. I was supposed to take care of her. Why didn't I see that? And then I have a crushing thought—was my mother ever like Leila was once? Was she young and spirited? And if so, who made the cracks in her?

"Why won't you punish me?" she whimpers. "I deserve to be punished."

"Is that for you to decide?" I ask, but my voice is no longer dominant as I intended it to be. It's strangling to find its breath.

"No, sir." She sighs. "I apologize, Sir."

"No, I do, Leila," I say. "I do."

I watch her for a moment. I failed at being her Dom. I must've missed something along the way, or chose not to see it. My selfishness turned a blind eye to her pain. She had given me her power then and I devotedly held it, but at the end, when it was time to hand it back, I hadn't prepared her well enough for the weight of it.

"She's so pretty," she whispers. "When you keep us we are pretty."

I close my eyes, pained.

"Come, Leila, let's get you cleaned up." I lift her from her place of kneeling and carry her like a small child to the hall.

The walk down the short hallway to the bathroom feels endless. Along the way I'm faced with pictures of Ana's life before me on the walls. Shes's happy and carefree, and tonight I sent her away in tears. Ana's bedroom door is open and I see the bed that we made love in over and over again just a handful of nights ago. The dirty ice cream covered sheets are sticking out of a hamper in an open closet in the hall. I can almost smell the stir fry and hear her laugh and feel her sleeping breath against my neck when I close my eyes. So many memories in such a short time—all of them Ana.

The bathroom door is ajar and I take Leila inside. There's a towel on the floor that must've fallen after Ana and I showered and dried off together. There's her soap and her honeysuckle candle and million little reminders of how sweet life with Ana has been.

I set Leila on the toilet seat. She's nearly comatose now, as she hasn't given me any reaction this whole walk.

I run a warm bath. I owe it to her to take care of her this one final time. She deserves that dignity. And truth be told, I have a compulsive need to wash away the filth I've created.

I take the hairbrush on the counter and lift it to brush her hair. This one is Kate's as I can see the blonde strands woven between the bristles. Of course she never cleans it. I begin to brush through Leila's hair—the tangles nearly impossible to undo, but I still try. She'll need a haircut. I can have Taylor arrange one. It'll help give her a new start.

"You let her call you by your given name," she squeaks, almost imperceptibly as I continue to bend over her and brush. I'm a bit startled that she's spoken and by what she's said.

"Yes," I say and I comb through an unruly knot with my fingers.

"You don't punish her. You laugh. You let her sleep in your bed..."

"Yes."

"You love her." Her voice is somber and hushed. I could lie to her right now, but I won't. I owe the truth to both her and Ana, and also to myself.

"Yes, I love her," I say and she dips her head again, and then she says no more.

I decide to give up on her locks, as I'm doing more harm than good, and return to the bath. I stick my hand in and test. It's warm now.

I put her hair up in some pins I find in a dish and then lift her to standing, but her knees buckle and she's on the toilet seat again.

I need to get her undressed and into the tub, which I fear will be no easy task. I close my eyes for a moment, take a breath, and then take off her socks and shoes. They're soaked and her feet are a wrinkled white, as if they've been living in puddle water for days. Carefully, I unbutton her blouse. It's a flannel thing that smells like a latrine. I try to keep it at arm's length, but the room is small and it's hard to escape.

I finish with the buttons and when I open her shirt, I gasp at what I see. There are bruises all across her chest—bruises and tiny welts that cover her sternum.

"What are these?" I ask. "Did you do this to yourself?"

She's just stares ahead.

I quickly lift her up and rid her of her jeans and the rest of her clothing. I see there are abrasions all over her backside and slash marks across her calves. She's been whipped and caned. I recognize the outline of these marks, but I've never administered them to anyone so deep.

"Who did this to you?" I ask. "Did you go to a club? Or find a new Dom?" She's quiet. "Answer me."

"Myself," she says in a sing-song manner, and then her face contorts into a pained expression. "I did all of it to myself," she murmurs. She's lying. She couldn't possibly be responsible for the marks all over her back.

"Leila, you can tell me."

She's silent. Her eyes glassed over again. The pained expression replaced by nothing at all.

Fuck. This is worse than I thought. These aren't the marks of punishment, they're the marks of abuse. Who the hell would do this to her?

I lift her naked, nearly lifeless frame and place her into the bath. She has no reaction, except to fall backwards and allow the water to take her. I have to keep a hand behind her head to keep her afloat.

I kneel fully onto the rug next to the tub and roll up my sleeves, switching hands beneath her to accomplish this task. I then start to bathe her. The water is the color of soot. All the terror and pain of these last few weeks is bleeding out into the tub.

I take down her hair and dip her head back into the water to wet it. It's terrifying the way her eyes are fixed on the ceiling as I wash her hair.

"_Mommy, mommy wake up!" I screamed as her cold eyes faced the ceiling fan. Her mouth was parted open and a tear that ran down her cheek was being pushed along by the wind from the whirling fan blades. I kissed the bruises and blood marked spots on the inside of her forearm. The place where the needles went and took her away. She wasn't dead yet, but she was someplace nearby. _

I shake my head. Fuck, I don't need to think about my mother right now. But, I can't stop seeing her when I look down into the water and into Leila's face.

I soap up a washcloth and run it over Leila's skin. The vanishing dirt now exposing the bruises even more. There are slashes on her back that are open and bleed against the cloth.

Whoever did this to her is pure evil.

"Remember that picnic we took?" she says softly after flinching when I clean a tender gash.

"What picnic?" I ask and continue to move the washcloth down her arms. The dirt is endless.

"You gave me a white dress with little pink flowers," she says and she's looking to a far off place I don't know, and she's smiling. "I made a basket with cheese and bread and grapes, and you wore a linen shirt. You smelled so good. And we ate there and you brushed my face and you promised me forever."

I close my eyes, pained.

"That never happened," I whisper.

"I know," she says softly, and then her eyes glaze over again.

I carry her to Ana's bedroom and find an old t-shirt and sweatpants for her to wear, and then wrap her in a blanket and lay her on the couch in the living room to wait for help to arrive.

I text Ana, but I hear nothing back. I try to call her and it goes directly to voicemail. She's avoiding me; I can't blame her. But, dammit I want to know that she's all right.

"How is she?" Flynn asks when I open the door to him. He's brought a nurse or a medic of some sort who I immediately direct to Leila on the couch.

"Resting now," I whisper, so Leila won't hear. "But, she's not well. Someone's been beating her."

"What?" he asks, incredulous.

"She has bruises and lashes. She says she's done it all to herself, but—"

"You don't believe her."

I shake my head. "Her back... it's covered. There's someone else involved."

"Do you have any idea who?"

"No," I say. But, I think it has something to do with the person who set us up tonight.

"Let's get her loaded in the car," the nurse says. "There's a room on reserve for her in Fremont."

Leila makes no fuss when I pick her up from the sofa to carry her to the car. Her eyes are fixed on some other place. Perhaps another memory of something that never happened that gives her peace. I hope she can rest there for awhile.

I place her in the car and the nurse shuts the door, and then I step away.

"Will you meet us at the hospital?" Flynn asks.

"No," I say. "I leave her in your care. I have to go find my girl now."

Flynn smiles and nods at me. "I'll call you with an update."

He gets inside the car and I watch them pull away, the car getting smaller and smaller, until she's gone. And with that, my life as a Dominant has truly met its close.

I race back inside to try Ana's phone again, but still no answer.

Damn it.

"Sir," Taylor rushes in. "I saw them take her away. Is everything okay?"

"Yes...and no. I have a lot to tell you. We'll have to get Welch on the line."

"Very well, sir. Do you want me to call him?"

"No. We can talk to him later. Where is she?" I ask in desperation. "Did you get her back to the apartment? Is Ana safe there?"

He's quiet for a troubling minute.

"Answer me!"

"She went out with her friend, sir."

"What? What friend?"

"Mr. Kavanagh, sir."

"You let her go out there alone into the world with Ethan Kavanagh?"

"She was upset, Mr. Grey. She needed a moment away."

"So, you just let her go? What do I fucking pay you for?"

"To take care of you, Mr. Grey" he says, sternly. "And that's exactly what I did."

"How the fuck do you figure?" My mind races, frenzied, knowing she's out there with another man who's nowhere near as fucked up as all this. Why would she want to come back to me when she can have a guy who's biggest issue is washing his hair.

"We need to find her!" I say. "We need to take her back to the apartment. She needs to be with me, Taylor! I need her to be with me!" I start to rush out the door and Taylor stands obstructively in my path. "What the hell are you doing? Get out of the way!"

"Let her be with her friend right now, Mr. Grey." He's so serious. "Give her some time, let her cool off and you do the same, and then I'll go find her." He looks me in the eye, sincere. "This is me taking care of you, sir."

I nod, reluctantly. "Take me back to the apartment," I say. "I'll wait for her there."

#######

It's been two hours and forty-seven minutes of waiting, and nothing.

Taylor is out looking for Ana as I pace the floor of my study, speaking on the phone to Flynn. What she's seen, can't be unseen, and I always knew the truth of me would make her go away.

"Leila is stable now," Flynn says. We've evaluated her. If she gets the proper treatment, she'll make a full recovery. They're investigating the marks on her. We'll get to the bottom of that, too."

"Good." My mind is elsewhere. Ana left her things in the car and I gathered them up, brought them inside and placed them on my desk. She'll have to come back for her purse and her coat. If not for me, she'll come back for that. And at least I'll get to see her again. That's the shred of hope I cling to.

"What's wrong?" Flynn asks.

"I haven't seen Anastasia." I fiddle with her BlackBerry, so I can see her screensaver of us again. The picture taken in Georgia when we were so happy. That same day that I got the call about Leila. When I was falling in love, Leila was suffering from its loss. Fate is twisted like that.

"Oh?" Flynn asks, urging me to tell him more.

"She hasn't come back," I say. "She saw me and Leila together like that and then I sent her away. It was for her own safety... but now she's gone."

"How did you feel being with a former submissive tonight?"

"How the fuck do you think? Sick and twisted. Terrified. Embarrassed."

"Embarrassed?"

"That Ana saw any of that." Her BlackBerry buzzes and I grab for it, hoping it's her, but it's just a notification that her cable bill is due next week. I make a mental note to pay it and take her off of the account, as she's living here with me now. But, then again, maybe she's not. Maybe she'll stay living with her little TV there, watching her shows alone—or worse, with company. I've never hated HBO so much.

"What about Leila? How did you feel with her?" Flynn asks.

"Guilty."

"Why?"

"She looked like the last image I have of my mother," I say. "When she stumbled in, before she passed out. Her hair was just like Leila's. A matted mess. And I laid in my mother's arms for the longest while. I didn't care that she was cold or too still, I was just happy she wasn't pushing me away. And she died while holding me. She must've. I hadn't remembered that, until tonight."

He's quiet for a moment.

"And you're drawing a parallel?" he asks.

"I chose Leila because she looked like my mother," I say. "They all did. I thought if I could control them, they wouldn't turn out like her. In some way, I could right that wrong for myself. But, it happened anyway. And it happened because of me." I take a deep breath and then let it go as I set down Ana's phone. "I never had any real control at all."

"Christian," he says, measured. "It isn't all your fault what happened to Leila. In fact, you were the only one who came to her aid."

"I don't want a medal Flynn. I just want to wait for Ana."

I hang up.

And I wait.

#######

It's late now. I've kept my eyes glued to the minutes of the clock. But, as much as I keep hold of them, they still escape me. Another thing I have no control over.

My phone buzzes and it's Taylor.

"Did you find her?" I answer with unapologetic desperation.

"No, not yet. They haven't returned to her apartment. But, we're on it and surveying the area."

"You have to find her! She doesn't have any ID or money or jacket. How is she supposed to be okay if she doesn't have these things?"

"She's with her friend. I'm sure he'll take care of her, sir."

"You think that's supposed to make me feel any fucking better?"

Suddenly I hear some commotion. I think the elevators have opened. I run to the living room and there she is, standing in the middle of everything. And for a moment I'm not sure if I've just dreamed her up or if she's really there. But then again, that's a daily occurrence.

"She's here," I say into the phone, not taking my eyes off of her, then shut it off and throw it onto the sofa. "Where the hell have you been?" I ask her.

She doesn't say anything. She just removes the sweatshirt she's wearing—the one she wasn't wearing before; the one that I saw on the back of Ethan Kavanagh. I clench my jaw as she lays it down on a chair, and then folds her arms and looks purposefully away from me.

"I see you've obtained new outerwear," I say, gritting my teeth. I curse that sweatshirt on my upholstery.

She stays silent, looking out the windows.

"Answer me, Ana. Where the hell have you been?"

She still doesn't answer, of course. I notice she's teetering on her heels and her cheeks are flushed.

"Have you been drinking?" I ask.

"A bit," she says, and I think she's surprised by my question. She's not drunk—I've seen that Ana before—but she's certainly not sober, either. Has that fucker been trying to get her drunk, too?

"I told you to come back here," I say. "It's seventeen after ten and I've been worried."

"So have I," she says. Neither of us has made a move closer to the other, or backed away. And we continue to stand our ground, watching each other, silently, until it's well past eighteen after the hour.

"Did you kiss him?" I blurt out. Mouth diarrhea again.

"Are you kidding me?" Ana asks, disgusted and horrified. Good, I don't think she did. "I went to have a drink... or three with Ethan, my friend, while you attended to your ex. I didn't know how long you would be...with her."

"Why do you say it like that?"

She shrugs and then stares down at her fingers. I hate that I can't see her eyes.

"Ana, what's wrong?"

"Where's Leila?" She looks up again.

"At a hospital in Fremont." I try to read her face, but I can't. "What's wrong?"

She's silent for a moment, then walks to the piano, brushes the top where we made love last night with her fingertips, and then looks up to me again. This time with tears in her eyes.

"I'm no good for you," she says, her eyes welling.

"What?" I nearly choke. "Why would you think that?" My heart is racing and I'm finding it impossible to catch my breath. "How could you possibly think that?"

"I can't be what you need." She turns away and I move to her, imploring her to look at me, but she just won't.

"You are everything that I need!"

"But, I saw you with her..."

"You think I want to be with Leila?" I ask and her exhale says some version of yes. "Are you fucking kidding me? She was sick and threatening you. She's in a hospital now. I did what I did to keep everyone safe. To keep you safe."

"I saw the connection. I felt what you had together."

"What? No!" I reach out for her, but she steps back, and she may as well have punched me in the gut. "Do you hate me? Is this why you're saying this?"

"No, Christian." She looks into my eyes. "I'm not saying this to hurt you. More than anything, I want you to be happy. You deserve to be. I'm not saying you want to be with Leila, but you should be with someone who... I wish to God I was that person who could give you what she could. I tried, but..."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I wish to God this is the alcohol speaking. "You give me everything she couldn't. What no one else could."

"Except for one thing. What you need. You should be with someone who can give you what you need," she says. "You shouldn't have to chose between love and something that makes you...alive. You deserve both." I watch as one lone tear streams down her cheek and hits her lip. Instantly, I flash back to my mother on the floor and the teardrop pushed by the wind of the blowing fan against her skin.

The world stops. I have no breath.

"You're running?" I whisper, and everything around me blurs and slows into this tortured fog of memory and presence intertwined. I don't know where now begins and long ago ends.

"Christian..."

I hear a siren and see the flashing lights that took my mother away. I hear my screams at four. And then I look up to Ana, and this moment is so much worse than that.

"You can't run," I beg of her with strangled breath.

"Christian, I..."

"No! No, you can't!" I grab my head with both hands to gain control of my mind.

"I..."

I look around the room, panicked. What can I do to keep her here? How can I make her stay?

"I love you, Ana," is all I can say, because it's all that there is. "I love you so much." I bow my head and involuntarily start to weep. "I've never told anyone that I've loved them before."

"I love you, too, Christian." She sniffling, crying. "So much. It's just that..."

"No!" I'm shaking and my heart is escaping my chest. How can I make her see? I'll do anything. I'll give her anything to make her stay.

And then, before I realize I'm even doing it, I'm falling to my knees at her feet.

"Christian!" I hear in echo. "What are you doing?"

I'm giving her the only thing that's ever meant anything to me.

I'm giving her my power.


	46. Chapter 46

I'm falling. Spiraling down a long dark hole. It's as if I've been walking through some forest in a dream or a fairy tale toward the distant light of a place that has always been out of reach for me, but down deep in a part even hidden from myself, I desperately wanted to find. Be it will or fate or cursed luck, just as I nearly reached it, I stumbled and slipped down this hole. A misstep perhaps, brought about by an evil spell or a sinister trap. Or maybe it was pre-destined all along and built by my own hands. The sunlight of a fairy tale blinds you to such truths. And now, not time, or space, or those beams of golden light exist for me. Only the slow tumble into blackness down this rabbit hole.

"Christian, what are you doing?" Ana's voice swims around me in echo. My eyes remain fixed at her feet as the cold, hard marble beneath me fires my knees. I can see my reflection in the tile and then the solitary evidence of my weeping splash down and shatter it. This place that surrounds me, that I also built—with its sculptures and pillars and colorless walls—serves to remind me that the life I before coveted is nothing but a large, glorified tomb.

"Christian!" Ana says again, but her name for me is far away as I continue my spiraling decent.

I see everything in fast forward and rewind, simultaneously. The end to the beginning and back again, with no pause for breath in between. Pictures, places—all blurred and yet somehow clearer to me than they've ever been before. They say this happens before you die. If that's true, I've nearly reached the seventh circle.

I see the crackwhore and then Grace. Evil and good who have both called me son. But, with only one do I share blood.

I see the submissives—all fifteen lifeless mannequins on an assembly line. And then, I see me whipping them one-by-one in defense of that small boy. I see that small boy. I see his Spider Man pajamas (two sizes too small), and his dirty face, and matted copper curls waiting at the window for his mother to return home. I see the Cheerios he poured into a pot with water—it was all he could find—so she'd have something to eat. I see him go to sleep hungry because that was the last of them and even at four he knew she was getting too thin. What the fuck did that assembly line of beaten mannequins ever protect him from, anyway?

I see myself drinking. The bottles of Carrick's cheapest scotch—the ones he wouldn't miss right away. And I see the pills. I see my hand shaking as they lay in my palm and I remember how I almost took them. But, I didn't. I drank myself to sleep that night, instead. No matter what a wretched child I'd been, I couldn't have Grace find her son dead from pills prescribed in her name.

I see Elena and feel the crack of that first whip across my backside. How vile and terrible and fucking good it felt to scream and finally give my pain voice. But, whose voice was it? I'm beginning to think it wasn't my own.

And then I see Ana—the light in this odd and wonderful fairytale we've been living. I want to reach her and hold her in my hands, but there's so much darkness between us, and like water and wind, light can never be contained by the cup of two palms.

"Christian!" Ana calls, and then calls again, the letters tumbling into each other, crashing, and reverberating up the walls before leaving me with only their distant hum. It's like the letters are mixing up to spell something else. On her breath, it's no longer my name I'm hearing, it's someone I need her to help me find.

"Christian, why are you on your knees?" she asks.

Because I'm hers. Doesn't she see that?

She has all the power.

Everything.

Hers.

I've nearly reached the end of my descent, and just as I'm about to crash and burn in this hell I've always been journeying toward, something catches me and pulls me up. Something much stronger than me.

Her.

"Christian! Look at me!" Ana yells and my eyes shoot up automatically, expectantly. She's harsh and demanding. She means business. This is something I understand.

"Christian," she says, softer now. "Why are you doing this? I don't want this."

Doesn't want this... Doesn't want me? But, this is all I have to give.

"Please, talk to me, Christian."

I blink my eyes and take a breath. The deep dark fog I've just been in begins to clear. I'm a little disoriented of my surroundings, so I focus on her.

"What do you want me to say?" I whisper after some long moments pass.

"Anything you want," she says, but I have no words. Doesn't she realize I'm not equipped to have these options on my knees?

"No. Anything you want, Ana. I'll do anything—say anything that you want." My voice sounds so fragile, I'm surprised it's mine.

"Christian, please." I see her bottom lip start to quiver and her eyes welling up. I hate seeing her cry. I hate that I'm the reason.

She stares down at me—this pathetic fool on the floor— for the longest time and I fear this will be the moment she decides it's all been too much. When she steps forward, I feel my chest constrict and my breath shorten into labored gasps, and I look up to her and brace for impact. But, she doesn't say a word. And as if an angel slipped from a cloud, she drops to her knees in front of me on the floor.

She's met me on my knees.

"I'm not going to run. I've told you so many times I'm not going anywhere," she says, looking straight into my eyes. "All that's happened... It's just overwhelming. I need some time to think."

I inhale sharply. Time means space. Apart. Think. Think means thoughts. Thoughts mean bad things for me. When women think it's my demise.

"Why do you assume the worst?" she asks, but I stay silent in my assumptions that are leading me down a dark path of women thinking. "I was just going to suggest that I go back to my apartment for tonight to think things through..." There's that word again—_think_. And when followed by _through_ you just know that it all is. "I thought since Leila isn't a threat anymore, I could have a moment at my apartment to catch my breath." She inhales as if she's doing just that.

My heart drops. Her apartment... not ours. Does she not want to live here anymore?

"Seeing you with Leila..." She closes her eyes and shakes her head, as of trying to rid herself of the memory. "It was shock." She looks off and I can almost see the nightmare play out across her face. "I had a glimpse into your life before. What you and she had been. You two had this connection..."

No, Ana! I wish I could voice it from the rooftops, but I'm frozen.

"I didn't realize it was like that. You've told me about your life...before. But, I never expected to see it up close. Certainly not like that." She breathes. "You could speak without words. It was intimate and I hated it."

I did, too, Ana!

"I'm not mad at you," she says, though she certainly doesn't look happy. "She needed help and you were there. And I'm not saying all this because I'm jealous, although I have to say in that moment I was." She looks out the window where moonlight is shimmering down on her and I'm spellbound. "This is about me not being good enough for you."

What. The. Fuck. Her not good enough for me?

"I'm scared you'll get bored with me and you'll go," she says, turning to face me again. "And then I'll be Leila. Just a shadow who still loves you and you won't..." A tear falls down her cheek and she wipes it with her fingertip.

I'm at a loss. I never loved Leila. How could she think I'd ever leave her? And she thinks she'd be some shadow pining after me? I'm the one who would end up like Leila if she left. I'm the stalker who lives in the shadows in this relationship.

"I don't know why you find me attractive," she says, quietly. "I mean, you're you." She shrugs and then laughs without humor, though she's still beautiful. "And you're beautiful and sexy and smart and so good, Christian. You're the most caring person I've ever known."

I shake my head. No. She's not talking about me. That's all her.

"You are, Christian. You don't believe it, but you are. I see it every day. I'm not trying to be self deprecating. I'm just being honest with you—and with myself."

"Ana, I'm not... you're everything I'm not..." I try to speak, but my lungs feel like they're filling up with water; I can hardly breathe. "Ana, you're—"

"I'm the girl next door. And when you've spent your life the way you have, the girl next door is fascinating, an enigma." She looks down at her fingers, somewhat pained. "But, eventually she's just the girl next door." She sniffs back emotion, before looking up at me again. "And that's what hit home for me tonight."

I'm dumbfounded. Literally dumb-the-fuck–founded. Like if the fuck founded dumb, that's what I'd be. My palm suddenly feels a twitch. I want to punish her simply for not seeing her own worth, but I can't for reasons even beyond the fact I'm currently her submissive on my knees.

"Are you going to kneel here all night, because I'll do it, too," she says, her spunk suddenly returned. "Please, Christian. Talk to me."

"I was so scared," I finally stutter out, and then take a struggled breath. "When I saw Ethan outside..." I shake my head in horror, remembering. "I knew someone else had let you in. I had gotten a call from Welch just before that. The lead they had on her was wrong. I was terrified. I've never been so fucking terrified in all my life. And then I saw you, and she was pointing the gun at you. I was afraid of how volatile she'd be with my arrival and that you'd get hurt. But, I saw you were unharmed, so I knew I had time to do something. I didn't know exactly what. But then, she gave me a clue. She looked up at me so contrite. Like she used to... " my throat seizes up and I close my eyes in pain.

"Go on," Ana whispers. I can tell she's struggling with this as much as I am.

"Seeing her like that..." I say, landing my eyes on Ana again. "Knowing I may have caused it all... She was always so mischievous and lively. That was all gone. The girl I knew was gone. She was replaced by this terrifyingly sad thing. Just bones and white and blood soaked bandages... And she might have harmed you and it would've been my fault. I would never forgive myself for that."

"But, she didn't," Ana says, softly. "And you weren't responsible for her or any of that. I won't let you think that."

I shake my head and look down again at my lap. She doesn't understand who I've been and what I've done. I had a responsibility to Leila back then, to send her off into the world again well, and I let her down. And it almost cost Ana her life. That's something I can never forgive myself for.

"I just wanted you gone," I say. "Away from the danger. And you just... Wouldn't. Go." I look up and our eyes meet. "Anastasia Steele, you are the most stubborn woman I've ever known." She smiles at the assessment. Not a submissive bone in her body. I smile as well. "You really weren't going to run?" My voice sounds so desperate again.

"No!"

"I thought—this is me Ana. All of me. And I'm all yours. What can I do to make you see that? That

I'll have you any way I can get you. That I love you."

"I love you, too, Christian," she breathes. "But, to see you like this after seeing you with her... like that... I thought I had broken you."

"Broken me?" I squint my eyes, looking at her in disbelief. "Oh no, baby, just the opposite." I reach out and take her hand. "You're my lifeline."

I look down at her hand that I hold between us. It's soft and warm, yet so strong and purposeful. With these fingers—I touch each one—she's brushed my face and pulled at my hair. She's drawn a map of lipstick with them and also washed it away. And I have strange, yet clear, visions of me as the man I am and the boy that I was both being held by them. And then children being cradled by them that I don't yet know.

"What is it?"Ana asks as I brush the pad of my thumb over her knuckles.

"Ana..." I clasp them tightly. That feeling of darkness and falling threatens to take me again, so I cling to her and I feel safe. And suddenly, I realize that the light I've been trying to find and hold all along is right here, right now. Because light isn't a thing to capture or to find, it's a thing that's created when I touch her—when she touches me.

When she touches me...

"Christian," she whispers, watching my hand shaking around hers, almost violently, as I pull her closer. I lock my eyes on hers. The blue of them washes over me like baptismal water, and I feel born again.

"Ana," I say her name as a prayer and hold her open palm over my chest. Then, all at once, as if ripping a band-aid off, I press it to my heart's center. I gasp on contact, as does she, but then we're frozen.

As I feel her flesh seer through the fabric to my own, I let out a pained cry. Something an animal might make when captured or injured or when being set free again. She flexes her fingers and tries to pull away, but I firmly hold her there, even as my body quakes. And though it burns like I'd imagine the pit of hell would, it's not a scorch that punishes. It's the kind of fire that eradicates all that has been before until there's only it's light.

"Christian, you don't have to—"

"Yes." I say, and then let go of her hand. Though I'm still shaking, I move my arms and shoulders back to open my chest to her. She's tentative to make a move, but I nod sharply again, imploring her to continue. I hold my breath as she flexes her fingers over me, touching me unattended on a place I never thought I could let anyone go. I involuntarily flinch when she nears those tender spots, and she pulls away.

"No!" I say, grabbing her hand and pressing it to me again. "Don't. Go."

She watches me and then inches closer, until our knees kiss. Lifting her hand slowly, she brings it to meet the one still held clasped in mine. Her fingertips brush over my shirt buttons with her free hand and I know what she wants to do next. She's eyeing me for permission. Before I lose my nerve and all my breath, I stiffly nod and release my hold on her all at once.

Carefully, she works my buttons open, one-by-one, then gently pulls the fabric apart, so my chest is bare to her. My breathing hitches and my jaw tightens as the chill in the room finds my scars. Her hand lifts and she holds it a few inches from the place she intends to go, and I can't help but shudder when I see that it's my heart.

"Yes," I say quickly and brace myself, though I know it's futile. There's nothing that can prepare me for this.

She extends her trembling fingertips, brushing the hair on my chest. My skin ignites; a shiver runs up my spine—a shiver that's like a gas line lit on fire. She presses forward and when her skin touches mine it feels like a thousand electric bolts shot straight through my soul. Every memory of being a boy burned and beaten and crying on my knees in front of a lifeless mother is felt and exorcized now.

My teeth start to chatter and I have to clench them so roughly I feel a crack in my jaw. I gasp when she brushes across that most heinous scar—the one he returned to over and over again, particularly when the wound was good and fresh—and I pull back a fraction in response. Ana removes her hand, but I grab it and place it back on my chest again.

"No, I need this," I say. "Keep going."

I watch her intensely as she journeys across all the marks of my past. Her gentle touch lighting the map of them on fire. I close my eyes briefly when I catch her staring at that most heinous one with the sweetest pity. I expected this to be painful, violent even, but I never knew how deeply I would feel the shame.

Her eyes are watering up as she watches me. She sees what I'm feeling, because I know she sees everything. I knew it that first day.

I inhale sharply as she slowly lifts herself onto her knees. I have no idea what she's going to do, but I chose to trust her. Her eyes stay glued to mine as she leans down and hovers her lips over my heart. Then, I watch in breathless awe as she places the softest kiss there. My body jolts, but quickly calms when she kisses me there again. My eyes pinching tight, I let out a loud, agonized groan. And it feels so fucking good. My pain finding new voice now.

"Again," I say when she stops and sits back, looking up with such a desperate need to heal and comfort me. Oh Ana, if you only knew.

Her eyes focus on that most heinous spot and I start to panic. I feel vulnerable. Like, if she looks at me there she'll know there's something really wrong with me. She'll know that I really deserved it. And I can't handle the look in her eyes when she sees that.

But, as ever, Ana surprises me. She doesn't look at it with disgust or tears or even pity. She looks at it with love. She looks at it and she doesn't look away. I choke back a sob as I watch her lean in and kiss it so softly. The way a mother would a child who got a scrape that wasn't his fault. How did Ana know? That's all I ever wanted from my mother. To kiss my wounds and make them feel better—to tell me it wasn't my fault.

"You're beautiful, Christian," Ana says and she kisses another of them and then another. The sting less with each one. "All of you is beautiful." Every emotion I've ever stored inside is bursting out through these holes in me. It's getting to be overwhelming. I'm shaking and I can't catch my breath anymore.

I need her.

In a rush of emotion I move my fingers into her hair and pull her face up to mine, kissing her with everything I have. I've startled her, but she quickly responds the same.

"Oh Ana," I murmur against her open mouth and then bring her down to the floor, holding her to me as I weep the tears of a very small child into her neck. "Ana...Ana...Ana..."

"Christian." She brings both hands to my face and holds me so our eyes meet. "Christian, please don't cry." She strokes my face and wipes a tear from my cheek. I hadn't realized I was. I'm a blubbering fool. A lovesick blubbering fool. I'm hope she's not embarrassed of me.

"I meant it when I said I'd never leave," she says, still cradling my face. "I did. Please believe me. Forgive me if you thought that I would. Please. I love you. All of you. I will always love you."

I dip my head to her chest and take a few breaths. She smells so sweet—so Ana. And she believes the lie that I am good. I don't want to do this, but I know that I have to. After everything tonight, I owe her the truth. And now that she's touched me, I don't think I can hide it from her anymore. She's bared my soul.

"What is it?" she asks when I lift myself onto all fours and look down at her. I'm trying to memorize her face, her hair, her body...before she goes.

"I need to tell you something...the truth." How do I do this? I choke up and I have to look away.

"Is this about this secret you think will have me running for the hills?" she asks, propping up on her elbows, and I nod quickly. "What is it? Just tell me, Christian. Please."

"Ana—" I whisper. "I'm a sadist." I take a breath and decide to rid myself of my truth as quickly as I can. "I like to whip little brown haired girls like you because you all look like the crack whore—my mother. I'm sure you can guess why."

I bow my head quickly, but not before I see the look in her eyes.

She's quiet. Too quiet. I can feel her eyes on me for the longest time. I wish she would lash out and call me every disgusting name I've already ever called myself, or go in the playroom and take the harshest whip out to use on me, because this silence is unbearable.

"You said you weren't a sadist," she says quietly, after some time.

"No, I said I was a Dominant. If it was a lie, it was a lie of omission. I'm sorry." I look down at my hands in my lap. "When you asked me the question, I had envisioned a very different future for us." I look up at her again, and I hate that I've put that look on her face.

She doesn't say a word, she just turns and stares at the piano—where we made such sweet love last night— deep in thought, and then she starts to cry.

"So, its true," she says, and turns back to me with tear striped cheeks. "I can't possibly give you what you need."

"What? No! No, you give me everything I need. Please, believe me."

"How?" She shrugs sadly and then looks down again. "I don't know what to believe. This is so fucked up."

"Ana, I know. But, please, you have to believe me. After I punished you and you left... everything, and I mean everything, changed for me. I wasn't joking when I said I would avoid ever feeling that again." I try and decipher what's she's thinking, but she's giving nothing away now. "When you said that you loved me..." I think of Ana weeping in that bed we've since broken upstairs. Her little body balled up as I quietly held her for hours. How she gave me those words and I rejected them, and then she went away... "No one's ever said that to me before. And after I had been so bad." I shake my head in disbelief. "It's like I laid something to rest that day. Or you did. Flynn and I are still in deep discussion about that."

"What does that all mean?" she asks in a hoarse whisper.

"It means I don't need that anymore. Not now."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just know. The thought of hurting you in any real way is abhorrent to me."

"I don't understand. What about the rulers and spanking? Tying me up? All the kinky fuckery?"

"Ana, I'm talking about the heavy shit. You should see what I can do with a cat or a cane."

"I'd rather not."

"I know. If you wanted to, fine. But, I don't think I'd want to do it even then. Besides, no matter what I would want or not want, I can't do any of that shit if you don't want to. As I told you in the beginning, you're the one with all the power." She dips her head and wipes a sniffle from her nose. It's so adorable I may cry on top of my tears.

"Elena asked you if you missed it," she says.

"What? When?" Why is she bringing up Elena?

"Last night," she says. "Do you? Really, be honest."

"I thought... I really thought I'd have to control myself and my urges when and if you would be with me again. But, it's funny, I haven't had that compulsion at all since you've been back. Not once. And I'm not talking about a fun spanking with silver balls or tying you up. 'Normal' couples do those things. I mean it, I never want to hurt you. Ever."

"When we met, that's what you wanted? Cats and canes and all that?"

"Yes." I look down.

"I don't get it. How can your compulsion just go? Like I'm some kind of panacea and you're 'cured' or whatever you call it?"

"I wouldn't say 'cured'... You don't believe me?"

"I just find it unbelievable. Which is different."

"Look, if you'd never left, I don't know if I'd feel the way I do now. But, you leaving, as painful as it was, was the best thing for us—and for me. It made me realize how much I want you. Just you. And I meant it when I said I would take you any way I can get you."

She sits there and continues to quietly ruminate my words, chewing her lip. Although, it's not a turn-on in this moment. It's as if she's gnawing on my balls through to my soul.

"You're mad?" I ask.

"Why would I be mad?" she shoots back. "Because you whip and torture women who look like your mother—like me?"

"I wouldn't exactly put it like that, but I get it."

But, I don't get anything more from her. Minutes that seem like hours pass. I just watch her as she watches the wall, deep in thoughts about me that I can't read. Then, after the wall has satisfied her, she lifts herself to her knees and looks down at me.

"Christian..." she closes her eyes momentarily, shakes her head, and then sighs.

I gulp. I know this is the moment I've been fearing. She's thought it over; she's decided. And I have no case to make her stay. And the better part of me knows that she shouldn't.

"Taylor can drive you home," I whisper with a bowed head.

"What?" she asks, sounding confused.

"What?" I look up, sounding the same.

"I'm really tired. I just want to go to bed," she says.

"Here?" My heart jumps through my throat. She's staying?!

"Well, I thought—"

"You're not going?"

"Do you want me to go?"

"No!" I shake my head, something like an inebriated sideways jackhammer. "No! Please don't go! I just always thought you would once you knew. But, you're not? You're really not?"

"Oh, for crying out loud, no! I'm not going to leave!What can I say to make you believe I won't run? Tell me, what can I do to make you believe I'm not going to leave you?"

I'm stunned. She knows the truth—and she's still here. I always thought this would be my punishment for allowing myself to love her and to be loved by her; that in the end this would be the moment where God or the universe takes it all away. The cruelest twist of fate.

But, she didn't go.

Everything I've ever felt or been or experienced in my life fires inside me—the fear, the sadness, the pain—and it's all burned away by the absolute love I feel for her and what she's given to me. I'm not stupid; I don't think all my problems are gone—far from it. But, something profound has changed for me tonight. Something has changed inside me. And I know I won't be the same man ever again.

I told her last night that it was like my past and my future were colliding. Well, it's officially happened, the planets have exploded, and in their dust all that's left standing is the only thing that's ever meant anything to me—Ana.

"There is one thing that you can do," I whisper, and for the first time in my life, I have no fear.

"What?" she asks as the moonlight sparkles in those heavenly eyes.

"Marry me," I say.

And I'm surrounded by the light of a fairy tale.

❤️❤️_**❤️ you guys! I promise the babies in my other story are coming. I've just been in this mode with this story. These scenes are dark and deep, and I wanted to get them out there while I'm in that head space. **_


	47. Chapter 47

"What did you just say?" Ana asks, looking up at me with those sparkling blue eyes. This moment couldn't be more perfect. Though, she seems a bit thrown by my popping of the question. Yes, it's sudden; but so was her falling into my life. And I'm realizing that patience is only a virtue for those who have nothing to wait for.

"Will you marry me?" I ask her again.

"Marry you?"

"Marry me."

"As in _marry_ you?"

"That's the general idea."

She looks at me for long moment, like I'm live action algebra, then around the room, as if trying to establish her residence in reality—or to find hidden cameras signifying that she's currently on reality television. Then, all at once, her bewilderment makes way for something else—something rather unexpected. She throws herself back onto the floor, arm covering her eyes, and succumbs to a fit of laughter.

Though I've never experienced it myself, I'd imagine a girl in hysterics at the size of one's dick might feel something like this.

"What's so funny?" I ask, and though I'm not happy she's reacted this way to my deeply felt question, I can't help but crack a smile. Even at my expense, I do love her giggles. "You find my proposal amusing, do you?"

"Mr. Grey," she removes her arm from her face and looks up at me. "Your sense of timing is without a doubt..."

"You're cutting me to the quick, Ana." I join her on the floor, propping on one elbow, then tip her chin up with my fingers. "Will you marry me?"

"You really mean it?" she asks.

"Yes," I say. She thinks I'm just joshing?

She sits up and leans over me, mouth parted, and seemingly a little baffled. "Christian, tonight I've met your psycho ex with a gun, been thrown out of my apartment, had you go thermonuclear Fifty on me—"

I sit up and open my mouth to speak, but quickly close it again. Husband-in-training.

"You've just revealed some, quite frankly, shocking information about yourself..." she says. "And now you've asked me to marry you."

"Yes, I think that's a fair and accurate summation of the events this evening," I say, somewhat amused.

Somewhat.

"Whatever happened to delayed gratification?"

"I got over it. I'm now a firm advocate of the instant stuff. Carpe diem, Miss Steele."

"We've known each other three minutes—"

"And those three minutes have been the best in my life. I'd trade all of my nearly twenty-eight years for even a fraction of them."

"But, we've just decided to move in together—"

"Then, let's make it official. I'm sure your father would prefer I make an honest woman out of you."

"Oh my God, my father!" She puts her forehead in her palms. "He'll know we've done it!"

"Done what?"

"_It_!" She throws her hands in the air.

"Well, if we're married—"

"Then, he'll know for sure!"

"Ana—"

"How do you know you'll like living with me? Maybe you need a trial run; there could be kinks."

"Oh, I do hope so." I grin, lasciviously.

"I mean, you could get tired of say...my shoes all over your closet."

"The thought of seeing your stilettos intermingling with my neck ties on a daily basis does things to me, Miss Steele."

"Maybe you'll resent my hair products on your counter—"

"_Our_ counter."

"Or, you could find that my feet are ice cubes in the winter. You've only known me in spring and near summer weather, you know. I'm an entirely different cover hog in the winter months."

"More excuse to cuddle up." Why is this exchange so deliciously fun?

"Christian," she sighs and she's heartbreakingly adorable in her slump. "There's so much more I need to know. I've had too much to drink, I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I want to go to bed. I need to consider your proposal just as I considered that contract you gave me. And"—she presses her lips together—"that wasn't the most romantic proposal."

"Fair point well made, as ever, Miss Steele." I sigh and then smile upon the realization that she didn't outright turn me down. The door is still open. "So, that's not a no?" I try to contain the hope in my voice, but my words are dripping with it.

"No, Mr. Grey, it's not a no, but it's not a yes, either." She moves to brush a stray flop of hair off my brow. "You're only doing this because you're scared, and you don't trust me."

I reach for her hand, fold it up in my palms and hold it to my heart. "No, I'm doing this because I've finally met someone I want to spend the rest of my life with. I never thought this would happen to me."

"I didn't either," she says, and smiles softly. "Please...can I think about it?"

I bow my head to kiss her knuckles, and then return her hand to her lap.

"Not very romantic, huh?" I ask. "Hearts and flowers and all that jazz?"

"A girl dreams of these things when she's small," she says. I imagine Ana as that small girl lying in a big pink puff of a bed and reading those hopelessly romantic British tales of dashing men who swept their fair ladies off their feet. And I instantly feel guilty that I gave her that question in the middle of night on the floor.

"What did you dream of, Ana? I want to know everything you've ever dreamed of, so I can make them all come true."

"Mr. Grey, you're so much better than anything I've dreamed of."

I dip my head. I wish that were the truth.

She wants a real proposal. That's what I'll give her. I need to get a ring. Shit, I need to research this stuff. What do they say—three month's salary? At $800,000 an hour that's... Hell, I better call the Queen for her crown and the collection. No, Ana would never wear any of that. I need something diminutive and sensible. Like a flawless five or six carats. I wonder if Taylor knows anything about this stuff. He was married before. Though, I get the impression it was a one-stop-shop-before-you-become-a-mom-and-pop kind of thing.

"I just want to go to bed and sleep on everything," she yawns.

"Hey, not so fast. You didn't think you'd get one past me that easily, did you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"In the list of your reasons you couldn't give me an answer—after you were too drunk and before you were too tired—you said you were hungry."

"I am, but—"

"I won't have you go to bed hungry. You didn't eat anything with that Elton?"

"Ethan. And no." That fucker plied her with drinks and no food? Another one! Where does she find these sleaze-bags? It doesn't surprise me that they're all part of Kate's swarm—Kavanagh hive mind.

"Why not?" I ask.

"I wasn't hungry then." She gives me that raised brow. "Being thrown out of my apartment by my boyfriend after witnessing him interacting intimately with his ex-submissive tonight threw off my appetite."

Fuck. That was harsh. Fair, but harsh.

"Very well. Let me fix you something." I stand and help her up from the floor.

"You're cooking?"

"Don't act so surprised."

"It's not an act."

"I'm reheating," I take her hand and lead her to the kitchen. "It's one of the lesser appreciated culinary arts."

"The least." She giggles.

"Clever, Miss Steele." I grin and shake my head. "You know, I've learned a lot since I chopped all those peppers."

"It was one." She holds up a solitary pointer finger. "One pepper."

"Hey, it was a big fucking pepper. It was like three-in-one. Like Godzilla pepper."

She spits a laugh and I can't help but join in. How often my penthouse has been sadly quiet at this hour, only filled with the music I played on my piano, and now it's filled with the music of her laughter.

She has to say yes.

"Okay, Julio Child, what delicacy do you have in mind?" she asks.

"Julio needs to assess his options." I smile, and there's more of her mirthful medley as I open the refrigerator to have a look. Fuck, I thought Gail went shopping. Maybe she did and I'm just not used to food in it's raw and natural state. Why do we have so many damn hot dogs? And not ballpark shit—they're imported from Germany. I never eat them. Does Taylor have a fetish or something?

"I could cut some cheese," I say and she giggles again as I hold up a wheel of Brie. Honestly, potty humor. It was funny, though. Elliot would've been on the floor. "I have grapes to lay beside le fromage." I look in the freezer, maybe there's something prepared in there. More fucking hot dogs. Oh no, they're Sicilian sausages. I'm troubled by all this lengthy international meat I've been unwittingly warehousing. "Soft pretzels?" I pull one out.

"No, not so late." She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. Why can't you eat pretzels late?

"Wait, I know!" I say, once the glittering package at the back of the fridge reveals itself to me. "Macaroni and cheese!"

"You like Mac and cheese?" she asks as her face lights up. She likes it, too. More proof that she should be my wife; we'd never disagree on the important stuff.

"It's my favorite! Do you want some?"

"Yes!" She cutely claps and then holds her hands together under her chin.

I unwittingly do my usual little Mac and Cheese shimmy as I take it out and see she's watching me. I'm not used to witnesses.

"I didn't know you liked it so much," she says. "I'll add it to the list."

"What list?"

"The coffee or tea list." She points to her temple as if making mental note.

"Oh right." I examine the pan and it's really cold. Fuck, it's been turning to ice at the back of the fridge. Do I need a fucking jackhammer to get this thing out? Wait! What about that creme brûlée torch? That would soften things up around the edges. Oh fuck it, I just put the whole thing in the microwave and nuke it on high. "You know, it's not that boxed shit, either."

"I can tell." She giggles.

"Mrs. Jones makes it special. Some old world family recipe or Martha Stewart... There are bread crumbs and mustard in it."

"Mustard?" she says as she scrunches her nose.

"I know! But, it works. Somehow the oddity makes it more appealing."

"I can see that." She smirks at me.

Speaking of oddity, it's quite odd to be having such a light conversation after all that's transpired this evening. Odd, but so nice.

"When did it become your favorite?" she asks.

"Grace used to make it for me when I was really small," I say as I set utensils down with some napkins and two plates on the breakfast bar. "It was comfort food. It was warm and it kept my belly full." I sigh, remembering that first bite. Heaven. And I couldn't believe she let me have as much as I wanted. "I liked things back then that made me feel really full."

She smiles, but I can see that last part has left her with some unsaid emotion.

"Macaroni and cheese is happy food, Miss Steele."

"Yes, it is, Mr. Grey." She smiles again, though it's laced with heartbreak for me. I continue to busy myself with the flatware. I don't want to think about my childhood now.

I look down and I'm suddenly amazed by what I've accomplished in my life—I've just set the fucking table like a champ!

"Steak knives?" Ana asks, lifting one.

"Oh, I didn't notice the teeth." Fuck, I knew a twist of fate would hollow my win.

"Wow, it's so late," she says, looking at the clock.

"Don't go to work tomorrow," I say, and I'm thankful when the microwave finally pings.

"I have to. My boss is going to New York on Thursday, remember?" She gives me a look.

I get the dish and set it between us to share. I feel like Lady and the Tramp about to slurp the spaghetti. Although these noodles are very short, so if we did that we'd be making out the entire time.

Perfect!

"Do you want to go this weekend?" I ask as I spoon out our helpings. That's it! That's how I can really propose. I go to Cartier on Fifth Avenue, pick out their best, and then I'll get down on one knee at the top of the Empire State Building...

"I saw the forecast. It looks like rain," she says.

Or not.

"Oh. So what do you want to do?" Paris, maybe?

"I think I'd like to relax," she says as she takes a forkful of her very late—not quite hot, not quite cold—dinner. "All this activity has been tiring."

"You're right. We'll stay in bed all weekend." I wink and she laughs. She thinks I'm kidding?

"This is delicious!" she says and a fleeting look of orgasmic bliss crosses her face. The way she licks that fork clean... Fuck, I'm hard. It's been so long since I've been inside of her. Twenty and some ungodly hours.

"I told you I wouldn't do wrong by you," I say, and then gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'd never do wrong by you, Ana. You know that, don't you?"

"I do," she says and smiles sweetly.

"Just the two words I want to hear from your mouth." I grin and she rolls her eyes, teasingly, as she takes another bite.

"I'm sorry about Leila," I say. "About everything tonight."

"It's not your fault. I told you."

"But, I should've been more careful. Taylor swept the apartment before, but still. We could've done more."

"I don't blame Taylor."

"Neither do I. Welch thinks Leila was being helped, for lack of a better word."

"What? By whom?"

"We don't know, but we have to stay diligent." I watch Ana enjoy her meal and gently stroke her hair. It does something for my soul to see her eating with me like this. "You know, Taylor was out looking for you." I rub the back of her neck. "I was so worried."

"Really? Why?"

"You left your purse and phone. I couldn't contact you. You were out there where I couldn't protect you." I shudder at the thought. "So, where did Elbert take you, anyway?"

"Ethan!"she says. Of course I know his name, I just fucking hate saying it. And if I call him Surfer Curls she'll be doubly mad. At least the photographer has some version of a profession I can subliminally insult him with. "We just walked across the street to that bar with the funny turquoise canopy for some drinks. We watched everything from there. I told him an ex of yours went crazy. I didn't tell him any details."

"I see." Great, now the fucker knows I drive girls to insanity. He has his opening.

"Leila looked terrible," she says. "I saw you carry her out, all wrapped up in that blanket."

"Yes, I took it from the hall closet. She was shivering violently. I can get it back to you."

"It's Kate's."

"Oh good." She gives me a look. "I mean, we have time. She's still on the islands... with Don Juan Romeo."

"So, what did you do with Leila in my apartment?"

I freeze, fork in my mouth. Fuck, I don't want to get into this now. Things were so light before.

"You really want to know?" I set my fork down and wipe my mouth with my napkin.

"Yes. I do." She looks slightly alarmed by my reaction and more adamant about her response to it.

"We talked. Incoherent, really. She was out of her mind. I did find out someone's been hurting her. Probably the person who's been aiding her all along."

"What do you mean? She told you that?"

"She didn't have to. I saw it for myself. She was black and blue. Bloody slashes all over her back and legs."

"How did you see this?"

"I bathed her."

Ana drops her fork on her plate and the reverberating _clang clang clang _can be heard and felt for a long time after—and probably for the rest of my life, if I survive to morning.

"You bathed her?" she asks, though it's not quite a question. It's more of a bullet through my stupid head.

"She was filthy, Ana. I had to. I changed her into a pair of your old sweats. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind?" she asks, and a man blind and deaf would see and hear that she did.

"Ana, please—"

"You bathed her?" She looks down, and then she starts to tear up.

What the fuck have I done?

"Ana, it wasn't anything like what you're thinking. She was absolutely filthy. She was practically comatose."

Ana continues to stare down at her plate. Why did I put out the steak knives?

"You undressed her?" she asks and her lip is quivering.

"Yes."

"You touched her."

"Yes, but—"

"You held her." A tear rolls down her cheek and she makes no effort to wipe it.

"No! I mean, well in the absolute most liberal sense of the word, yes, but...it was all I could do, Ana." I move my hand to her face to wipe the teardrop and she swats me away, briskly finishing the job herself.

"Oh really?" she asks. "It was all you could do? What if I told you I undressed Ethan, put him in a tub and bathed him while you were waiting for me tonight?"

"Ana, don't go there."

"Why not?"

"Because Ethan wants to be with you."

"So does she! And I've never had sex with Ethan before."

"There was nothing sexual. She's sick. She barely knew her own name."

"But, she certainly knew yours, Sir."

"Ana!"

"So, let me get this straight. If Ethan or Jose were, say, passed out drunk or ill and I bathed them you'd be okay with it?" How the hell did the photographer worm his way into this?

"No!" I take a breath and run a hand through my hair. "Okay, Ana, maybe I shouldn't have. But, I didn't think anything of it... She was like a small child. I knew she needed that."

"So, I was right. You two do have this unspoken intimacy."

"No! Ana, please listen to me—"

"You know what, I'm not hungry anymore." She throws her napkin down, then takes her half-full plate of macaroni to the sink and tosses it down the drain.

"Ana!" I call out to her, but she rushes past me and heads for the bedroom. I hear the clomping of her heels and then the slam of the door. I'm just glad she didn't head for the elevators.

"Fuck!" I shove my plate away from me. Not judging my strength, it slides off the counter and shatters on the floor. I stare down at the broken pieces. The last thing on my mind is the fractured china.

I ask myself again—What the fuck have I done?!

I hear footsteps. She's back! I turn and rush to her, only to face-plant myself into Taylor.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask him. He's probably in search of one of his midnight foreign wieners.

"I just returned and I heard a commotion, sir. Is everything alright?"

"I dropped a fucking plate. Everything's fucking fine."

He eyes me. Why does he look like he's witnessing a train wreck? I mean, more than usual.

"Is Miss Steele okay, sir?"

"Yes." I take a breath. "She is in bed, currently, though I don't know where I'll be sleeping," I mutter.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Nothing."

"Very well, sir. I'll get a broom." He starts to take off.

"I bathed Leila," I say fast. He freezes in his tracks. Fuck, that was awkward. I need Pepto for my mouth diarrhea tonight. Things are just flying out.

"Okay, Mr. Grey..."

"Was it? Tell me. Was it okay?"

He's silent long enough for me to know the answer.

"She was filthy!" I say. "That's why I did it...but now Ana's mad."

"I take it you delivered this information, yourself."

"She asked me, so I was honest—I'm always honest with her. I didn't think I was doing anything to hurt Ana..."

"Sir, I'm not going to defend or condemn any choices you made this evening—"

"I asked her to marry me..."

"Miss Steele?"

"No, fucking Leila." I roll my eyes, demonstratively. "Of course, Ana!"

"A lot has happened tonight, Mr. Grey."

"And a lot hasn't, too! She didn't give me an answer. She has to think about it, because she thinks I might not like her shoes and she's been drinking. But, that was before I pissed her off." I sigh. "Make up the broken bed upstairs, because I'm sleeping on that sideways mattress tonight." I think about that. Everything in my life really has been turned upside down. Ana's in my bed, and I'm locked upstairs in the submissive bedroom.

"Why are you still here, Mr. Grey?"

"Because she hasn't murdered me, yet."

"No, I mean in the kitchen, sir." I think he's sort of amused by this.

"She doesn't want anything to do with me."

"She's upset with you, sir. Go to her."

"I thought your advice before, when she was off with that Kavanagh fucker, was to give her space."

"It was. She needed it. Now she needs you."

"How do you know these things?"

"Sir, I failed at a marriage because I crowded her too much and held her too little. And when everything was divided up, I was left with the knowledge of that."

Geez, Taylor's fucking Shakespeare all of a sudden—or Johnny Cash.

"Maybe I will check on her," I say.

"Yes, Mr. Grey. I'll clean up here."

"Oh, and one more thing, Taylor. Can you covertly get me some bridal magazines tomorrow? I need to start something of a research project."

"Yes, sir," he smiles, and then I take off fast for the bedroom.

It's completely dark when I enter, though the moonlight illuminates enough to prove there's no one in the bed. I gasp, fearing that she's taken off, until I hear the shower running and then hushed weeping coming from the unlit bathroom.

"Ana," I say as I open the door, flip on the light and find her in a naked ball on the floor of the running shower.

"Ana!" I open the shower door, and paying no mind to the fact that I'm clothed, climb in there with her. I wrap her in my arms, pull her into my lap, and I sink with her to the tile. "I'm so sorry, baby." I kiss her hair, the water pouring down on us both. "I'm so sorry." I rock her back and forth as she weeps into my chest.

"Do you love her?" she whispers.

"No, baby," I say, the thought abhorrent. "Never. The only person I've ever loved—or will ever love is you."

We sit there for some time. I don't notice the water or the hard tile, but I do notice her breath and her skin, and how good it feels to hold her, regardless of the circumstance.

"You need to rest," I say, after we're well soaked and cuddled, and I kiss her temple. "Let me put you to bed." I stand, turn off the water, and lift her from the floor. After drying her thoroughly, I find her a t-shirt of mine, and then carry her to the bedroom.

"Is this what you did for her?" she whispers into my neck on the walk.

"Not in the same universe."

"But, you bathed her, and dressed her, and carried her..."

"Ana, I bathed, and dressed, and carried a girl who couldn't walk out on her own. I did the same right now for a girl I'm terrified will."

She nuzzles my chest and I hold her to me. I'm not sure if we've resolved anything, but her cheek against my heart feels like something. It's everything.

"Sleep, sweet girl," I say after tucking her in bed, and she drifts off fast. I make quick work of removing my soaked clothes, throw on some pajama pants, and then climb in beside her.

I wrap my arms around her and pull her close. This reminds me of the night right before the morning she left. Me, holding her after she'd shed tears. But, this time we're in our bed and I'm no longer fearful of those three words. This time, I whisper "I love you" into her hair.

#######

There's a light on in the hall and it wakes me. I look to my side and I'm startled to find that I'm alone in bed. The sheets are crumpled and warm, so she hasn't been gone long. But, she is gone. And the bed feels larger and more vacant than I ever remember.

I fly up and go to the light. I find her in the living room, office ready in her plum dress, placing her computer and things on the breakfast bar. What time is it? It's still dark. Is she going to work at this hour?

"Ana!" I call out and she turns. She's been crying. Her eyes are red and puffy, her cheeks tear stained.

"Christian," she sobs and I notice she's propped a note on top of her things. I step closer and gasp when I see it's addressed to me.

"What's that?" I point to it. My heart is pounding through my chest. "What are you doing?"

She looks down and away. "I can't do this."

"Can't do what?" I struggle to take a breath.

"This," she says, sniffling back tears. "Us." She sighs sadly and then steps forward. "I can't marry you, Christian. I can't ever marry you. And it would be a lie if I stayed."

"What, no!" Panicked, I move to her and take hold of her arms. "Don't leave! You said you wouldn't. Please don't go!"

"I can't be with a man like you. In your own words, you are a sadist. I can't be with someone who enjoys inflicting pain on girls who look like his mother—girls who look like me."

"No, Ana!" She steps back and away from me, and I'm choking on emotion. "But, you stayed last night."

"I told you I needed to sleep on it and I did. And I woke up knowing, clear as day, this isn't what I want. "

"But, you said you loved me." Tears are now spilling from my eyes.

"I didn't know everything."

"Ana, no, please. I'll show you I'm different. I'll show you how much I've changed. How you've changed me."

"It's too late, Christian. You've shown me who you really are."

"No!" I grab my head with both hands. "Noooo!"

"I called Ethan. He's coming to pick me up." She starts to walk to the elevator.

"Ana, no!" I scream, and then fall down on my knees like I did last night, but she doesn't look back. The doors open, and swallow her up, and she's gone.

"Nooooooo!" I let out a primal guttural cry. "Annnnna!"

I wake with a jolt and find Ana shaking me and saying my name on loop. I gasp and look around. She's here. She's still in my t-shirt. We're sitting in bed.

"Oh Ana," I sob my relief at the sight of her.

"Christian, you were just having a bad dream." She strokes my arm.

"You left, you left, you must've left." I can't get my bearings. I'm shaking and drenched in sweat. "You said you wouldn't."

"I'm here," Ana says.

"But, you were gone," I whisper through gritted teeth.

"I'm here now. I just woke up to get a glass of water."

"You're here." The realization sets in and I pull her to me, wrapping her in my arms. "Oh, thank God, you're really here."

"I just went for a drink." She pulls back and looks at me, so lovingly, as she strokes my face. "I'm not going anywhere. I told you."

"Oh Ana." I take her face in my hands and kiss her—pouring all the emotion of the night and my entire life into this moment. Soon, the world falls away, and we are nothing but tongues and lips and breath.

We are us and there's no one else.

"Christian," she moans into my mouth.

I run my open lips along her chin and then nip it. She shudders and my erection stirs. My hands are greedy as they travel down her body. I need to touch and taste and feel her everywhere, all at once.

Ana lets out a breathy groan, twisting her fingers into my hair, and pulling me closer. I hold to her waist and inch the fabric of her t-shirt up over her breasts—her perfect fucking breasts. I cup each one, and then dip my head to suck and tug on her left nipple with my teeth. Her body vibrates against me and I'm undone.

"I want you," I say, looking up at her, breathing hard against her chest.

"I'm here for you," she pants. "Only you, Christian."

I close my eyes and tilt my head up to the heavens. How did I get here? How did I get this? After I thought all would be lost.

I kiss her again with a passion that literally lights my fucking soul on fire. This feels so good and so right. Is it because we fought or because of the nightmare that I feel so raw and unbridled and fucking in love with her? Or is it because tonight she's finally touched me and I have nothing more to hide?

With her help, I work her t-shirt up and over her head. She slides her fingers into my pajama pants and fondles my ass as she moves them down my thighs. The evidence of my desire for her springs forth dramatically.

"Fuck, I want you so much," I say as I ravage her mouth for a few more delicious moments, before ridding myself of my pants completely and directing her to her back on the bed. I crawl over her, and then bury my face in her neck. My erection slides between the skin of her thighs and it's almost painful my need for her. For a few irresponsible moments I contemplate fucking her without a condom. Just a few thrusts, I rationalize, or I could pull out and come on her tits. That would be so fucking hot. But, all my thoughts are halted when Ana starts to push me away.

"Christian! Stop, I can't do this," she says.

I pull back and look at her, breathless and bewildered. She's upset, troubled by something—the thought of making love to me.

Oh my God.

"What? No, no, Ana!" I hold her to me and nuzzle her neck. "Please don't overthink this." I plant featherlight kisses on her chest.

"Ah!" she cries out and shudders as I run my teeth over her shoulder. She tilts her head back, offering her neck to me, but just as I begin to consume it she pushes me away again. And the way she looks at me—it's as if she's seeing a different man than she saw before.

Just like my dream.

"Ana, I'm just the same," I whisper against her ear and then pull back to see her face. "Please, I need you. I need to be close to you. I want to show you how much you mean to me. Touch me. Please." I rub my nose against hers, and then press my forehead to her forehead. We stay like this for a moment, until I slowly lift up onto all fours and wait for her decision.

Her eyes hold to mine as she props up and slowly reaches her hand forward. She stills it in midair for some seconds, and then tentatively, gently, she brushes her fingertips over my heart. A flash of a burning cigarette comes painfully at me, but it also goes. I take a breath and then, all at once, she presses her palm to my skin and begins to move her hand across my chest. I shudder as the bolts of electricity stab through me, but I'm amazed at how quickly they pass now.

She slides her palms over my shoulders and caresses my back and my blades, all the while pulling me closer. This is the first time she's touched my back. The intensity is nearly unbearable, yet insanely erotic, as we both lay naked here and she confronts my demons.

I always thought I had to fight them alone.

"Holy fuck, Ana," I breathe as she lightly scratches me with her nails, circling my shoulder blades, then trailing her way down my spine and back again. I bury my face in her neck and moan, pained, against her throat as my erection throbs into her hip. God, I knew it would hurt like hell, but I didn't know it would also feel so fucking good.

I need her now. But, only if she needs me, too.

"Ana," I say, sitting up fast and fumbling for a condom in my dish. I can't wait to throw this thing against a wall. Just a few more days, Grey. Foil packet in hand, I hold it up to her. "Do you want to do this? You can still say no. You can always say no."

"I don't want to say no," she says, and then snatches it from me and rips the packet open. She takes hold of me and works quickly to roll the latex over my length.

"Careful, you're going to unman me," I say. Damn, she's moving so fast. She really wants this.

Once the condom is secured, I flip us around so I'm on my back and she's on top, astride me.

"You take me," I say as I slide my thumbs up and down her wet slit.

She lifts up on her knees and takes hold of my cock, stroking me up and down as I continue to play with her. Fuck, this is torture. Finally, she places me at her entrance and lowers down onto me, so deliciously slow. I buck my hips, pushing myself inside of her as deep as I can possibly go, and I hold there for a moment. I love this feeling; we're as close as two people can possibly be.

"Oh God," I say, tipping my head back as she starts to move. She takes hold of my hands, intertwining our fingers, and she presses my arms back into the mattress. I tilt my head up to watch her move—her breasts bouncing as she rides me is the hottest thing. I want to reach up, but she's got me pinned.

"You feel so good," she says and it drives me insane. I need to be closer. I want to feel her hands on me while we make love.

"Touch me, Ana," I say. She slows to let go of my hands, and then brings her fingers to my chest. She strokes my pecks and my stomach, and I shiver when she bares her nails again. I take hold of her hips and move her up and down my length as she focuses on my heart. It's so fucking intense; I feel like I can't breathe.

"Enough Ana, please," I say, after reaching the edge, and she immediately lets go.

I sit up fast and hold her to me, kissing, licking and biting her as we continue to move. I can feel her tighten around me and I know she's close.

"Give it to me, Ana," I say in a strangled whisper as I almost hit my edge, too. "Come with me, baby." I put my forehead to hers and we stare into each other's eyes, our breath in unison, as I thrust twice more inside of her and we explode together. And we stay wrapped around each other for moments after.

She holds me for a long while, my head in her lap as she strokes my hair.

"Don't ever leave me," I tighten the wrap of my arms around her.

"I won't," she says and I can almost hear the eyeroll.

"I know you're rolling your eyes," I say and she softly giggles confirmation.

"You know me well," she says.

"I'd like to know you better."

"Back at you, Grey." She brushes some hair off my forehead. "What was your nightmare about?"

"I don't want to repeat it. It was so much worse than the usual and usual is almost unbearable."

"What's the usual, then?"

"I'm three, maybe four. The crack whore's pimp is mad again. He's always mad. It alternates between him being mad at me for protecting her, or for crying, or for being hungry... He's always smoking and he never has an ashtray." Her hand stills in my hair and I know I'm horrifying her. "He holds me down on this soiled carpet and lifts up my shirt and it burns so badly. I beg him to stop and he likes that." I close my eyes and bury my face into her cleavage, taking in her scent for comfort.

"It really hurt," I say, lifting my head again and stroking her belly. Her skin soothes me. "It's the pain that I remember that gives me the nightmares. That, and she did nothing to stop it."

She tightens around me, cradling my head to her chest, and it feels so good to be held like this. I've told Flynn most of these things and we work through them, but there's something so different about being held and comforted through it all by the person you love.

"You're not like her," she says as she strokes my head again. "Don't ever think that. Please."

"Sometimes I see her in the dreams, lying on the floor. Lifeless. But, I don't know that she's dead at four. I think she's sleeping, so I cover her up and lay with her. And I'm hungry. Really, really hungry."

"And then he's back, all of sudden. He's cursing her and whipping me or punching me in my stomach so hard." I wince in recall. "And you know, I'm actually grateful for the pain in my belly so I can't feel the hunger."

"Is that why you don't like to be touched?"

"It's complicated." I hold to her like a small boy would hold to a teddy bear.

"Will you tell me?"

"She didn't love me. I didn't love me. My first memories are those cigarettes and knowing I was a mistake."

"You weren't a mistake," she says and kisses my head. I think she's starting to cry now. "If you were a mistake, then this is a mistake. And we both know it's not. It's meant to be."

"Oh Ana." I cling to her. I hadn't really thought like that before. If I hadn't been born, or my mother wouldn't have gone the way she did, or a fraction of anything had played out differently, then I wouldn't have Ana. I've been searching for the meaning of why all of it happened my entire life. Perhaps now is why.

"The only touch I knew back then was harsh," I say. "My fearing touch all stems from that. Flynn explains it better than me."

"Can I see him?"

"Who—Flynn?"

"Yeah."

"My fifty shades rubbing off on you." I tilt my pelvis into her, teasingly.

"Among other things."

"I like those other things, Miss Steele."

"Me, too."

"You're so precious to me, Ana. I was serious about marrying you. We can get to know each other then. You can look after me and I can look after you. We can have kids if you want." In ten or twenty years... "I'm serious, I will lay the world at your feet. I want you body and soul—forever. Please think about it."

"I will. Can I see Dr. Flynn first? If you don't mind."

"Anything for you, baby. Anything." I kiss her belly. "I'll set it up. When?"

"As soon as possible," she says and I smile against her flesh. She doesn't want to delay this. She wants to give me an answer. It has to be yes.

I look at the clock. It's almost four.

"It's late. You need sleep," I say, and lift up to shut off the bedside lamp. Once under the covers, I pull her into my arms for rest. "I love you, Ana Steele." I nuzzle her at the back of her neck. "Always. Now get some sleep."

"Love you," she yawns, and she's out like a light.

And for the second time tonight I close my eyes, this time lighter and more at peace because she knows and she's here, and she's going to give me an answer. So, I drift off with visions of hearts and flowers and Cartier diamonds...

Tomorrow, I make a plan.

**_Thanks everyone! I appreciate all your support and reviews! It means so much to me that you all responded so positively to those last emotional chapters. Thank you! More to come... xo_**

**_And for people asking, my other story with Christian, Ana and the kids is: Grey Hearts and Flowers. Though that story really begins with my holiday themed stories for Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. They're all posted on here. The Christmas one is fun right now. _**

_**Now, I have to birth those babies! **_


	48. Chapter 48

**_Happy New Year! Thank you a million times over for all your support for this story. xox_**

**_Here's a long one for you..._**

"Oh my God! I have to get out of here!" Ana's voice wakes me with a jolt. I'm wrapped around her like vine in bed, struggling to keep hold of her in my half-sleep, as she's kicking and pushing me off.

What the hell?

I gasp in panic. Is this another nightmare, or has she finally woken up and realized she has to get away from me for good?

"Ana, what's wrong?" I sit up in bed, trying to get my bearings. She flies out of my grasp, pulls her t-shirt—make that my t-shirt—off, and flings it at me.

Shit, she really is done with me. She's using my clothing as weaponry.

"It's 8:45!" she says as she races to the shower. "I thought you set the alarm!"

I look at my phone on the nightstand. I'll be damned, it is nearly nine. And I did set the alarm, I've just hit snooze seventeen times.

And she's late.

It's no longer than five minutes before she's out of the shower—parading around in front of me, gathering her clothes and unmentionables for the day. When she drops her towel, my dick flies up as I feast on her naked body.

And what a bounty of a body it is to behold.

I'm happy that she's decided to ready in front of me, and not in the bathroom or dressing area in the closet. I have to grip the sheets, so my hands don't fly to her breasts as she places them in the delicate lace cups of her petal pink bra. And Lord, the way she slides her panties up over thighs, and her rear, so her thong hugs into the slit of her ass, is a thing of fucking legend.

But, my gazing is interrupted by a troubling thought. I'm still fearful that, with all that happened last night, she'll go out into the world today and realize she doesn't want to be a part of mine anymore. She'll see her normal colleagues, with their normal problems, going about their attractively uneventful normal lives and realize a life with me is just too much. I know from experience what it is to live with me, and to crave escape to normalcy.

"What are you looking at?" she asks, panting in her rush, as she slides her black pants on.

"Your ass in that thong before you so rudely blocked the view." I wolfishly grin. "Though, it's still mighty fine in those pants."

"I'm so late for work!" She buttons them and slides up the zipper. When she pulls up, the seam gives her a little camel toe. I clench the sheets harder.

"You can call in sick, you know."

"No, Christian, I can't. I am not a megalomaniac CEO with a beautiful smile who can come and go as he pleases." She straightens her slacks, and the camel toe is sadly gone. But, at least no one will see the outline of her slit but me.

"I like to come as I please." I wink.

"Christian!" She throws the towel she was drying off with before at me. I have her shirt _and_ her towel now—that both smell of her. Along with the sheets she's just departed, I have a regular Ana aromatherapy collection—Anaromatherapy.

"Beautiful smile, huh?" I can't stop smiling at her.

"Yes. You know the effect you have on me."

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do. The same effect you have on all women. Gets really tiresome, watching them all swoon." She waves her hand in the air, in reference to the swoony swarm.

"Does it?" I ask. She's jealous? I grin.

"Don't play the innocent, Mr. Grey, it really doesn't suit you." She puts on her blouse and before she buttons it, I reach up and over, take hold of her hands and pull her onto the bed. In a flash, I've flipped her and am hovering over her.

"I only have eyes for you," I say. "And lips..." I run them across her chin and down her neck as I intertwine my fingers with hers and put her arms over her head. "And other things..." I rub my now throbbing erection against her leg.

"I have to go work," she says, but tilts her head back to give me more access, which I greedily take.

"What can I do to convince you to stay?" I whisper, seductively, and run my mouth down to her cleavage, twisting and pinching one of her nipples through the lace.

"Not a thing." She gasps and quivers as I find her nipple with my teeth. "I really have to go!" She works to sit up quickly and I begrudgingly oblige. But, I give her a smack on the ass for good measure. Her subsequent squeal has my cock pole vaulting. And let me tell you—he's an Olympian.

As I watch her finish dressing, I realize there's nothing keeping her from driving herself anymore—Leila is in the hospital now. Although, there's still someone out there responsible for all this, the immediate risks have lessened. And especially today, driving herself could mean returning to her apartment tonight—without me.

That craving for normalcy.

"Taylor will take you," I spit out, and she looks up at me. "It's much quicker that way."

"Okay," she says, a bit quizzically, cocking her head. I breathe a sigh of relief that she agreed so easily. I'm so used to fighting over vehicular decisions with her. I don't mind that she questions my sanity, as long as she isn't driving.

"Why are you still in bed?" she asks. Oh, that's why she was looking at me oddly.

"Because, it's comfortable and relaxing, and I'm watching the best floor show." I grin. "Though I wish I was watching it in rewind."

She walks up to me, leans over enough for my face to be filled with her ample cleavage, and puts a hand on my forehead.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Checking for a temperature."

"Oh, it's hot, but I'm not ill. In fact, I've never been better." I take her hand away and kiss it, then sit up and pull her to me, so she's standing between my legs.

"So, why aren't you getting up?" She runs her nails through my hair and I hum my appreciation.

"I've spent every day of my life getting up in the morning," I say. "Today, I just want to sit here and watch you dress and enjoy the scent you've left on my bedsheets."

"What's so different about today?"

I reach around her waist and pull her close, placing my forehead against her belly.

"There's a chance you'll say yes." I fondle her bottom and kiss her hip.

"I told you..." she tilts my chin up with her fingers. "I want to talk to Dr. Flynn, first."

"I know." I let out a breath. "I'll make the appointment after I'm through leisurely enjoying the sent of your pillow, and your t-shirt, and your towel..." I point to my fan club booty as I stare down at hers.

"Well, I'm glad you'll be talking to your psychiatrist after all that."

"Oh, he'll encourage that behavior, believe me. He's secretly a filthy romantic bastard at heart."

"Now, I really look forward to our meeting." She smirks.

"Hey, don't make me punch him in the session. He has the power to send me away. I think you'd miss my cock."

"Very much, Mr. Grey." She giggles, then gives me a kiss, which quickly deepens.

"Well, I wish I could stay with you, but the man I work for wouldn't approve of me ditching work for really hot sex," she says against my lips, and grabs my hands that are starting to untuck her blouse.

"Oh, I have no doubt he'd approve. In fact, he may insist on it."

She gives me a final peck and moves away, tucking her blouse back in.

"Seriously, why are you staying in bed? It's not like you." She tosses the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and grabs her computer.

"Because I can, Miss Steele." I grin, clasp my hands behind my head and lean back into the headboard.

She smiles, shakes her head in that cute way she does and heads to the door.

"Laters baby," she says from the doorway with a wink, and she's off.

She's definitely going to be really late today.

_Good—he'll know she's been with me in bed. _

I'm beaming, practically shooting sunshine out my ass at the thought, as I text Taylor: _Take Miss Steele to work and let me know she makes it safe inside. _

He texts me back: _Are you driving yourself to GEH, Mr. Grey?_

I reply: _No, I'm spending the morning in bed. Have Gail bring me some coffee and a croissant... And get me the reading materials I requested asap._

I have a big deal to work on this morning—the biggest. I need to be thoroughly prepared.

#######

"What do you have for me, Taylor?" I ask him from my pillow propped place as I eat my croissant. I don't even care that I'm getting crumbs in the bed. I'm a new fucking person today.

"_Bride's Day, Forever After Weddings, I Do Quarterly,"_ he says, reading off the titles as he hands them to me.

"_I Do Quarterly_? What kind of idiot title is that?" I read their top feature item. "_Bridal on a Budget?"_ I look up at him. "Honestly, Taylor." I toss it to the side.

"There wasn't one that instructs on how to pay full price, sir." Is that a little snark I sense from Taylor? Is he offended by my commentary? I never knew he was so touchy about his periodicals.

"_Forever After Weddings_ sounds like a horror film." I throw that one down, too.

"I also have this one—_The Knot_." He lifts it up, but I hold up a hand to stop him.

"Taylor, I don't want that shit at my wedding! This is a family deal."

"_The Knot,_" he says again, more pronounced, as he hands it to me. "As in _tie the knot,_ sir."

"That's my fucking point!" I look at it. The bride on the cover isn't in bondage. Well, if you don't count that hairstyle and those shoes. Oh wait, _tie the knot_ is a wedding thing, too. I wonder if knots are actually tied at these things... I hope I don't have to demonstrate my skill set in front of my mother.

"Is there a particular reason we're looking through these magazines, sir?" Taylor asks.

"She hasn't given me an answer yet, if that's the bush you're beating around this morning." I open the magazine.

"I take it things improved after I saw you last night, Mr. Grey." He's so smug. He probably wants a medal for his wise counsel.

"Yes, your advice was keen. Thank you."

"You're most welcome, sir." He bobs his head in a nod, then watches me carefully as I flip the pages. What's his fucking deal? "Perhaps Miss Steele would like to look those over with you—"

"Are you crazy? I don't want her involved in any of this." I stop on a photo of a man holding flowers. It's not a gay wedding. He's the male maid of honor—the _man_ of honor. He's the bride's best friend who happens to have a penis. What the fuck? What groom went for this scam? Over my dead body will the photographer worm his way in that way!

"Sir, I don't mean to offer unsolicited advice..."

"Then, why are you doing it?"

_Flip, flip, flip._

"Because, brides have certain ideas about weddings. And the grooms don't usually do the planning—"

"I'm not planning the wedding—_yet_. I'm planning the proposal!"

"I thought you already proposed, sir."

"On the floor, in the dark and she had been drinking. It wasn't nearly romantic enough. It was a warm-up. I want the big show—flowers, candlelight, music..."

I turn to a bridal up-do gallery. These are the worst chignons I've ever seen. It's like bread makers are braiding up this shit. I could really teach them a thing or two. "Why does everyone put weeds in their hair?" I point.

"I believe that's baby's breath, Mr. Grey."

"Yeah, after he spit up his peas." I flip through more pages. "I've got that Armando guy for the flowers, and my jeweler at Cartier for the ring. But, I need inspiration. Instruction. Like, is it one or two knees you get down on?"

"One, sir. Two, you'd be at mass."

God, help me.

"Perhaps you should contact a professional, sir."

"You're right. Get me the editor from this magazine." I look in the front. "Kelly, no Keely, whatever. Fly her out. NDA, the whole bit. I want Ana to have every girl's dream." I wave him away to do his task.

"Yes, sir." He remains standing there. He's looking at me with concern, unless it's constipation.

"What, Taylor?"

"Will you be going to work now?"

"Is that all your life revolves around—my work?"

"Mostly, sir."

"I want to finish my croissant and read my magazines." I take a crumb showering bite. "Then I need to stop by my psychiatrist."

"Yes, sir." He nods and exits.

After reading: _The 25 Most Embarrassing Proposals Ever, _and realizing I would probably do some version of all of them— except dinner at The Olive Garden with a ring at the end of a breadstick maze, or that public pubic piercing with engagement jewelry—I decide to write Ana.

**_From: Christian Grey_**

**_Subject: Missing you_**

**_Date: June 15 2011 10:47_**

**_To: Anastasia Steele_**

**_My bed is too big without you. _**

**_Looks like I'll have to go to work after all._**

**_Even megalomaniac CEOs need something to do._**

**_x_**

**_Christian Grey_**

**_Twiddling His Thumbs CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._**

She doesn't answer right away. Perhaps she's just busy, but it's not like me to assume the best. Hopefully, that fucker Hyde isn't trying to be overly busy with her.

I drag myself from bed, stack my magazines and hide them in my nightstand drawer, then head for the shower.

The very lonely shower.

It's steaming, but it feels like ice.

Hell, how did I ever bathe before Ana?

My Blackberry is buzzing when I get out and I rush to answer it.

**_From: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Subject: All Right for Some_**

**_Date: June 15 2011 10:53_**

**_To: Christian Grey_**

**_My boss is mad._**

**_I blame you for keeping me up late with your...shenanigans._**

**_You should be ashamed of yourself._**

**_Anastasia Steele_**

**_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_**

How dare that fucker be mad at her! If he so much as raises his voice to her, I'll have him fired.

The shenanigans do make me smile.

But shit, she's still using her company email!

**_From: Christian Grey_**

**_Subject: Shenaniwhatagans?_**

**_Date: June 15 2011 10:58_**

**_To: Anastasia Steele_**

**_You don't have to work, Anastasia._**

**_You have no idea how appalled I am at my shenanigans._**

**_But I like keeping you up late ;)_**

Winkie faces are new to me, but I really like them.

**_Please use your BlackBerry._**

I need something more. I smile as I type the more...

**_Oh, and marry me, please._**

**_Christian Grey_**

**_CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._**

Yes, please.

I text Taylor and tell him to ready the car.

My phone buzzes.

**_From: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Subject: Living to make_**

**_Date: June 15 2011 11:01_**

**_To: Christian Grey_**

**_I know your natural inclination is toward nagging, but just stop._**

Nagging? What the hell? Is she scolding me?

_**I need to talk to your shrink.**_

Ha—I'm heading there now. She's quite biting with me, though. Why? Because I asked her to use her BlackBerry?—which she still doesn't use!

**_Only then will I give you my answer._**

**_I am not opposed to living in sin._**

**_Anastasia Steele_**

**_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_**

Damn it, she's talking about my shrink and our living arrangements on her work email!

**_From: Christian Grey_**

**_Subject: BLACKBERRY_**

**_Date: June 15 2011 11:03_**

**_To: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Anastasia, if you are going to start discussing Dr. Flynn, then USE YOUR BLACKBERRY._**

**_This is not a request._**

**_Christian Grey, Now Pissed CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._**

The shouty capitals will get her attention.

Oh fuck, maybe I shouldn't have said pissed, but I am.

But, she's allowed to be, too...

I keep checking my BlackBerry on the ride over to Flynn. She doesn't respond.

This is making me nervous.

#######

"She's stable," Flynn says of Leila as he makes himself comfortable in his seat of judgement. "The medication is working and she's resting."

"What about her injuries?" I sit on the sofa, but I don't relax into it. I never do.

"They're waiting until she's of more sound mind to question her. Some of the gashes were infected, though... If she had gone on longer out there, she could've gotten gravely ill. She's being treated now."

"Good."

"I'm sure they'll want to talk to you," Flynn says.

"No," I stand and hold a hand up. "I won't be directly involved. Just relay the information. If she needs anything, I'll cover costs..." I pace the carpet.

"Very well," he says.

I stop my walk at the edge of his mantle and catch my reflection in the overhead mirror. I've caught myself in the center of that brass frame many times before—usually by surprise and always I'd look away. But, I don't now. I'm curious to see myself.

I examine my face. The swell of my bottom lip from the nip she gave me when she came. I touch it. I like that I've been marked by her. There's stubble on my chin where there had always been a clean shave. I touch that, too. My eyes are a bit puffy and red, and my hair is in three different time zones. I'm kind of a fucking mess today, and that makes me smile. I look like a real person.

"I take it Anastasia came back last night, as you didn't show up on my front porch steps this morning."

"Yes, but she was angry, upset with me. Hurt." I close my eyes, pained, as I remember her crying in the shower.

"Hurt by seeing you with your former submissive?" he asks as he sits back and starts to take notes.

"Yes. She said she sensed our connection. Whatever the hell that means. I didn't feel anything, except sympathy for someone I knew well once. And intense fear that she could bring Anastasia harm."

"Did Anastasia accept this explanation?"

"For the most part. But, she absolutely flipped when I mentioned I gave Leila a bath."

"You gave Leila a bath?" he asks, incredulous.

"Not you, too! Look, I know now that it was out of line, but it was all I knew to do."

"I'm not judging you, Christian. But, I can see how Anastasia would feel, knowing you shared an intimate moment with another woman—an ex."

"It was not intimate! And she's not an ex-girlfriend."

"But, she's an ex-something."

"She was practically passed out and bleeding. Trust me, there was no enjoyment on my part."

"But, if Anastasia did this with another man..."

I hold up a hand. "She said as much to me, and I got the message—loud and clear. I wouldn't do it again, not that any situation like that could ever arise a second time, but in that moment I had to help her. Not because I have some connection with her, because I couldn't watch someone, who had once been in my care, suffer alone."

He sits back in his chair and looks at me.

"And yet, you're a sadist..." The fucker smirks.

I look away, then pace to the window, searching for those blue flowers that look like her eyes in the garden beneath.

"I told Ana last night," I say as I fix my gaze on them.

"Told her what?"

"That I whip and torture girls who look like her. That I saw my mother in all of them—in her. That I am a sadist."

"Well, that's a lot." He lets out a sigh. "I'm not altogether surprised, except that your confession of what you profess to be true came so quickly. I suppose the dramatics of last night led you to this point."

"I was down on my knees in submissive position."

"What?"

I turn my gaze back to him, the side of my head pressing against the pane of glass.

"I thought she was going to leave me. I didn't know what I could do, but give her myself. I don't even remember it happening, until I was kneeled at her feet."

"How did she respond?"

"She kneeled down there with me. She wouldn't let me submit to her. She wanted to talk."

"I like this girl."

"I knew you would." I snicker, hands in my pocket, as I walk back to the couch.

"So, you told her... Why?"

"I couldn't lie to her." I look down at my feet—one on the rug, one on the hard wood. Uneven, yet making no decision to move. I don't know if I want to stand on firm ground or soft threads, yet.

"What did she say?"

"She was shocked, confused, disgusted—but she didn't go," I say, still fucking amazed. "She stayed. With me."

I move my foot from the wood, and it joins its match on the rug. The soft threads won out.

"So, your worst fear was not realized."

"I don't know why. She should have gone." I sit down on the couch and prop my elbows on my knees, resting my forehead on steepled fingers.

"She loves you."

I start to say that she doesn't really know me, but that's a lie now. She knows every part of me.

And she stayed.

"She touched my chest," I say, with hitched breath, and lift my eyes to him again.

He's staring at me, open mouthed.

"In accident?" he finally asks. "How did you react?"

"No, it was no accident. I wanted her to. I asked her to. I took her hand and I put it on my heart—and I held it there. It burned so badly..." I close my eyes, remembering. "But, then the fire was gone and—there was pain, but it felt... surprisingly good." I look up at him. "It's like she was burning out the demons."

"Explain."

"I don't know... I've always fought my ghosts alone, but Ana was with me last night. Right by my side, on the front lines. No fear. Her staying with me, after everything that should have made her run, has done more for me than anything..." I sniff back emotion. "I feel like I can finally rest. That she'll keep me safe. That's a dignity I've never been afforded."

I notice he's staring at me, again, with open-mouthed awe. I want to tell him to shut his trap or flies will set up house, but now is not the time.

"Wow. Christian, this is huge." He sits forward. "This is a breakthrough I thought would be many years off, if at all.

"You're not the only one."

"And you do have Ana to thank, but don't negate your own part in the process."

"Cut with the bullshit. There would be no process without her."

"No, but like the old saying goes, you can lead a horse to water—"

"I asked her to marry me."

"What?" The flytrap is open again. That drinking horse charged through. "When?"

"Right after I told her everything and she didn't leave." I give him a pointed look. "You told me to run the last time I was here."

"Run with a loving relationship. I didn't mean rush into marriage. I didn't think you would ever rush into marriage! I would've chosen my words more carefully, if I did."

"Look, I know you think it's too soon or I'm doing it for the wrong reasons, but that's a load of shit."

"Excuse me?"

"Marrying Ana is the only thing I've been sure about—ever. Even starting my business I had doubts. I have no doubts now. Not one. Last night, it's like my life flashed before my eyes—and she was the rest of it. And what's the fucking point in holding off on living it?"

He watches me. I can see he's conflicted between what the text books say and celebrating my wildly accelerated progress because of a girl.

Ana isn't a textbook theory, she's a magic potion.

"What did she say?" he asks, I'm sure expecting a level headed no.

"That she needs to think about it. That she can't give me an answer until she talks to you. So, when's your next appointment?"

"Christian, I don't think—"

"I'm serious. When are you free? And don't give me a year from next Saturday!"

"Tomorrow," he says, a bit frazzled. "But, perhaps we should consider this the start of couple's counseling that will lead you down the road toward marriage."

"Flynn, please! She just wants to ask you a few questions about me."

"Like what?"

"She has this crazy idea she can't fulfill the things I need—like Leila or the others did. You have to tell her that's not true! She says she can't marry me unless she's sure she's enough for me."

"I won't tell her what you want me to say, I'll tell her the truth."

Fuck.

"But, the truth is, I don't believe you need those things anymore. So, I will tell her that."

"Thank you," I say.

"So, aside from those questions, she's really on board with this?"

"She hasn't turned me down. She's going to live with me."

"Have you seriously thought about all that marriage would entail?"

"Yes! I've been seriously thinking about it since I bought her a house."

"You bought her a house?"

"It's more like a fifteen acre estate overlooking the sound, but yes. She doesn't know about it, yet. I thought I might take her there tomorrow, after we see you. Don't fucking make her upset and ruin my real estate presentation!"

He shakes his head. "Christian—"

"You know, when I dropped out of school, everyone told me I was wrong and I couldn't make it—"

"A marriage is not a business venture."

"I know that. I finally fucking know that! Don't you see? I've lived every relationship I've ever had as a business venture. But, this isn't that."

He sits back and blows out a breath.

"Well, Mr. Grey, you've certainly been full of surprises today."

"You didn't see me reading bridal magazines in bed this morning."

"I don't want to know." He waves a hand. "Look, I'll be unbiased. I'll give you my assessment on whether I think you two are ready, tomorrow."

He better not fuck this up.

#######

No response.

The entire time I've been in there she didn't write me back.

"Welch called," Taylor says as he buckles himself into the driver's seat of the car. "He says there have been no new leads, but they're working on it, sir."

"Groundhog Day," I mutter. "I'll call him later."

As I ride in the back of the SUV, I formulate a response to Ana's non-response. I know Cosmo says that to text again after no text back is a no-no, but I don't care. They also think two orgasms is a big fucking deal.

**_From: Christian Grey_**

**_Subject: Crickets_**

**_Date: June 15 2011 12:37_**

**_To: Anastasia Steele_**

**_I haven't heard from you._**

**_Please tell me you are okay._**

**_You know how I worry._**

**_I will send Taylor to check!_**

**_X_**

**_P.S. We can see Flynn tomorrow evening. _**

**_Christian Grey, Overanxious CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._**

I start to tap my foot. What if something happened to her? What if she snuck out for that asshat's deli meat again and got run over by a truck? No, Sawyer hasn't called. He'd know about that. He's still watching her.

The harsh reality is, she probably doesn't want to talk to me.

There's a buzz. I have a text!

I look down, excitedly. It's just Mia.

_Do you want balloons?_

I text back: **_Only if you want me to hang myself by the strings. _**

The last thing I want to think about is my birthday dinner. I'm hoping to skip it. I just want to spend the day and night with Anastasia—engaged—in bed.

#######

"Mr. Grey, it's almost time for your lunch," Andrea says as I stroll toward my office.

"Good, order me something." I take off my raincoat. It's not raining, but it looks more menacing to wear it as I enter the building. Good to keep the employees on their toes.

"I meant it's almost time for your lunch meeting. There are sandwiches and such for the group, and a salmon Caesar for you in your office."

"How long has all of that highly perishable fare been out and unrefrigerated?"

"Just a few minutes, sir." She takes my raincoat I've handed her. "The meeting is to begin at one."

"Who am I meeting with again? It better not be the Taiwanese. I don't want anymore cigars or liquor—or love notes." I'm still getting looks from women in the office because of all those flowers I gave away. So many lashes batting at me on the way up, I'm surprised the building didn't take flight.

"You're going over numbers for the Youth in Crisis City Arts Program," Andrea says.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I put a hand in my hair. Elena's on that committee. "Who set up this meeting? When?"

"It's been set up for months. Since the last one. It's the quarterly, sir." What is it with quarterly shit today? It's now officially my least favorite fraction.

"You wanted to schedule it at lunch so you didn't have to take up office hours," she says. "The mayor will be here. He requested the lobster mashed potatoes in the little tub."

"Of course he did."

I sigh. I wish I would've stayed in bed.

With Ana...

"Christian!" I hear her before I see her. Not Ana, the she-wolf, Elena. Her blonde bouncing bob comes charging at me from the elevators. The cloud of Chanel No. Five arrives first.

She's wearing red shoes. The mark of the black widow beast.

"Elena," I say, and when she goes to kiss my cheek, I squirm out of her reach. She gives me a puzzled, almost hurt look. I just can't bear for her to be near me today, especially after Ana has touched me. Touch somehow feels less frightening, but more sacred now.

"Were you waiting for me out here?" she asks.

"No, actually I just got here. I haven't gone into my office yet."

"Oh. Were you to a meeting?"

"No."

"It's one in the afternoon." She smiles at me, incredulous.

"Anastasia and I had a late night."

She winces a bit at that one. I can see Andrea fight a smirk.

"Shall we go in?" Elena plasters on a grin and offers her arm for me to take.

"Uh, you can go ahead. I'm going to wait for the mayor out here."

"Oh." She frowns, lowers her arm—pretending to fiddle with the hem of her shirt— and then steps inside.

She knows how I feel about the mayor.

"Andrea," I say. "Hold all calls, except for—"

"Anastasia Steele."

"Yes."

She smiles and heads back to her desk.

I think Andrea is a fan of Ana's.

I can feel Elena staring at me through that glass wall of my office—every inch of me knows that biting chill—but I don't look back. I keep my eyes trained on the elevator ahead—the one where a girl once called me by my first name and set me free.

#######

"The after school music program is doing marvelously well," Elena says, seated across from me in my office. The mayor and his band of idiots are chowing down on the steak sandwiches and lobster mash, barely paying attention. It's like medieval times in here. I think they just came for the free food. "Attendance is way up."

"I'm not concerned about numbers so much," I say. "This isn't a business venture. I just want to know there's a place for at risk kids to have an outlet in the arts." I sound irritated with her, and it's somewhat undeserved, but I can't stop myself. A disturbing thought crosses my mind. For the first time ever, it troubles me that Elena is so involved in after-school programs.

"I wasn't suggesting it's a business, Christian. I was just enthusiastic about it being so popular." She gives me a look that says _what's your fucking problem. _

I look away.

"You know what would be really popular?" the mayor says, taking a break from inhaling his starch coated claw meat. "Jump rope competitions!"

"Excuse me?" I say.

"The kids love it! And they do some crazy tricks now! Nothing like when I grew up on the streets of Spokane." He laughs. Cheesy crustacean bits all in his mustache.

"Exciting as that sounds," I say. "That's a sport, not an art."

"Well, it sure looks fancy to me!" He laughs again and points to the container of his potatoes, demanding more meat from his assistant.

How did this fucker get elected?

Elena is staring at me. I chose to ignore her, which is really pissing her off. Somehow, this delights me greatly.

"Well, I think theatre, perhaps musical productions, would be a wonderful community project," she says.

"That would be a large undertaking. It's hard to get teenagers involved in long term commitments," I say and I look directly at her. Did I just say that? She shifts in her seat.

"Oh, I don't know. There are a lot of responsible young people out there who take instruction well. In fact, they thrive on it."

"We need responsible adults, too," I say and we both stare at each other.

What the fuck has come over me? Ever since Ana touched me, it's like Pandora's box has exploded all over my life.

"I think we should have a carnival twice a year with those monster-sized turkey legs!" the mayor says, slapping his knee, laughing.

"Sir," Andrea pokes her head in. "Miss Steele is on line one."

I nod and rush to my phone, without apologizing to anyone.

"Ana, baby, is everything okay?" I ask, as I turn away and move to the corner for more privacy.

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be okay?" she asks.

"You're normally so quick responding to your emails. After what I told you yesterday, I was worried."

"Is this meeting over?" the mayor asks.

"Hold your horses," I say, covering the phone. "I'm on an important call."

"I don't have all day," he says.

"Of course you do."

"Christian, I know you're busy," Ana says. "Everything's fine. I'm just busy, too. Jack's been cracking the whip! Er, I mean—"

"Cracking the whip, eh?" I whisper, low and seductive. "Well, there was a time when I would say he was a lucky man. Don't let him get on top of you, baby."

"Christian!"

"Just watch him, okay. What time should I pick you up?"

"I'll email you."

"From you BlackBerry," I order.

"Yes, Sir."

I grin. "Laters baby."

"Bye," she squeaks out, shyly.

She doesn't hang up. I have the biggest fucking smile on my face.

"Hang up!" she says.

"I wish you had never gone to work this morning."

"Me either, but I'm busy. So, hang up." I can hear her blushing smile.

"No, you hang up."

"We've been here before," she says, and I can hear the sound of her lips parting and her exhale.

"You're biting your lip," I say.

She gasps. I'm right.

"You see, you think I don't know you," I say. "But, I know you better than anyone."

"I really wish I hadn't left this morning," she says, and I'm sure she's pressing her thighs together. "But, I really have to go."

"BlackBerry me, Miss Steele." Though, _BlackBerry_ could be replaced with any number of sexual actions.

She giggles. "Good day, Mr. Grey." And she hangs up.

I'm on cloud nine, until I look back to the group and I fall back to hell.

"Look, I gotta get back to the office," the mayor says as he stands. "I'm good with a musical—or whatever. If anything new is discussed, send it to my office—or plan another lunch."

He and his team gather their belongings, and after a quick handshake, they leave.

Elena and I are now alone and I can feel the room close in.

"Well, talk about pouring ice water on the balls of a deal," she says.

"Excuse me?"

"What was that and what happened to Christian Grey?"

"I was talking to my girlfriend. Not that it's your business."

"It is my business when I'm in a meeting with you and you disrespect me." She shakes her head, flabbergasted. "You disrespected the mayor!"

"I always disrespect him. Plus, he got his lunch. He was only here for the lobster mash."

"Christian, I have held my tongue." She literally bites it. "I've supported you in your fun little experiment. But, this relationship of yours is affecting your work now. You come in after noon. You blow off meetings. She had you practically groveling at her feet on the phone." She should've seen me last night.

"Elena, it's none of your fucking business. Now, I appreciate your concern, but I'd also appreciate it if you'd go. I need to get back to my day."

"I'm just worried about you." She dips her head, softening. "I've known you for years, she's known you for a handful of weeks. Don't throw everything you've worked for, and worked to become, away for a girl. That's what adolescents do."

"I wouldn't know what adolescents do."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I have to get back to work."

We both stare at each other, neither one knowing what to say after that exchange.

"Christian, I'm sorry," she breaks the silence first. "Let's not do this. You know how much I care. I lose myself in how much I care for you, sometime." She reaches up to touch my face and I turn away.

"I need to get back to work, Elena."

I walk to the door and open it for her. She clutches her bag, her red nails playing nervously with the buckle as she walks to me and the invitation for her exit.

"I want to take you to lunch for your birthday," she says, her eyes shooting up to mine.

"Maybe next week," I say, not looking her in the eye, just staring straight ahead.

"Good. I'll plan on it," she says. "Pencil me in for next Thursday. We can make a real afternoon out of it."

"Next Thursday," I nod and she leaves, and I turn to watch her catch the elevator, knowing next Thursday will never come.

#######

"She was at the deli again?" I yell into the phone at my desk.

"Same pastrami, same mustard," Sawyer says. "There were fries and a dip this time."

"What do you mean a dip? Ketchup?"

"I think mayo, sir. But, it was kinda far. I just saw white. It may have been ranch, but I didn't see the little speckles."

How is this Hyde fucker not four hundred pounds?

"I don't care about his condiments. Did she get back safely?"

"Affirmative."

"Good. Keep an eye on the glass doors."

I hear a buzz and look at my BlackBerry.

**_From: Anastasia Steele_**

**_"Subject: Antediluvian_**

**_Date: June 15 2011 16:11_**

**_To: Christian Grey_**

**_Dear Mr. Grey_**

**_When, exactly, were you going to tell me?_**

I freeze up. Tell her what? I've told her everything! Maybe she found out about my bridal magazines...

**_What shall I get my old man for his birthday?_**

Oh, Mia's talked to her.

**_Perhaps some new batteries for his hearing aid?_**

**_A x_**

**_Anastasia Steele_**

**_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_**

She's funny. I like when she teases me. I like that she called me her old man.

But, I hate my birthday.

She's still not using her BlackBerry, but I'll let this one slide.

**_From: Christian Grey_**

**_Subject: Prehistoric_**

**_Date: June 15 2011 16:20_**

**_To: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Don't mock the elderly._**

**_Glad you are alive and kicking._**

**_And that Mia has been in touch._**

**_Batteries are always useful._**

**_I don't like celebrating my birthday._**

**_x_**

**_Christian Grey, Deaf as a Post CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._**

**_From: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Subject: Hmmm._**

**_Date: June 15 2011 16:24_**

**_To: Christian Grey_**

**_Dear Mr. Grey_**

**_I can imagine you pouting as you wrote that last sentence._**

**_That does things to me. _**

**_A xox_**

**_Anastasia Steele_**

**_Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP_**

Two _x's_ surrounding an _o._ That's so hot. My pants grow tighter. But hell, doesn't this girl ever do what she's told?!

**_From: Christian Grey_**

**_Subject: Rolling Eyes_**

**_Date: June 15 2011 16:29_**

**_To: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Miss Steele_**

**_WILL YOU USE YOUR BLACKBERRY!_**

**_x_**

**_Christian Grey, Twitchy Palmed, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._**

Fuck, I'm going to have to have IT clear everything today.

**_From: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Subject: Inspiration_**

**_Date: June 15 2011 16:33_**

**_To: Christian Grey_**

**_Dear Mr. Grey_**

**_Ah...your twitchy palms can't stay still for long, can they?_**

**_I wonder what Dr. Flynn would say about that?_**

**_But now I know what to give you for your birthday—and I hope it makes me sore..._**

**_;)_**

**_A x_**

I got the wink!

Holy shit. I need to get a size larger in trousers if this is now my day-to-day.

**_From: Christian Grey_**

**_Subject: Angina_**

**_Date: June 15 2011 16:38_**

**_To: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Miss Steele_**

**_I don't think my heart could stand the strain of another e-mail like that, or my pants for that matter._**

**_Behave._**

**_x_**

**_Christian Grey_**

**_CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._**

**_From: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Subject: Trying_**

**_Date: June 15 2011 16:42_**

**_To: Christian Grey_**

**_Christian_**

**_I am trying to work for my very trying boss._**

**_Please stop bothering me and being trying yourself._**

**_Your last e-mail nearly made me combust._**

**_x_**

**_PS: Can you pick me up at 6:30?_**

Combust, huh? I'm about do the same. Though, she has me wondering what Hyde is doing today that's got her so flustered. Why is he being such an asshole to her? She should be treated like a princess—well, not by him. But, she should be given her due respect.

I don't like this. Once I'm in, he's gone.

**_From: Christian Grey_**

**_Subject: I'll Be There_**

**_Date: June 15 2011 15:47_**

**_To: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Nothing would give me greater pleasure._**

**_Actually, I can think of any of number of things that would give me greater pleasure, and they all involve you and your spontaneous combustion. _**

**_x_**

**_Christian Grey_**

**_CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._**

Now then, it's 3:48 in the afternoon. I should really start my day.

#######

"Leila's husband has been depositing money—cash— into an account he set up a month ago," Welch says on the phone as I sit in front of SIP and wait for Ana.

"How much money?" I ask.

"Small amounts that add up to about $10,000."

"Do you think he was buying her the prepaid cards?"

"No, he was far removed. But, I suspect someone has been making sure he's silent on some matter."

Fuck, this well gets deeper and deeper.

"I need you to look into something for me," I say.

"About Ms. Williams?"

"No. Elena Lincoln. I want to know the extent of her involvement in the after-school charity arts program we're involved in."

"Like is she stealing money?"

"Anything you find out." I cringe at the thought she may be using it to entice troubled boys like me.

But no, she has Issac... she couldn't.

I just have to know for sure.

"Okay," Welch says. "I'll have her trailed."

"I'll speak to you later." I hang up.

Ana should be out any minute now. I can envision her opening those glass doors and walking toward me. I plan to make that spontaneous combustion a reality, with my fingers in her panties, as soon as she enters the car.

Less than two minutes later, those doors open and I get my wish. Her hair is bouncing. Her cheeks are rosy. She's coming to me and she looks... Terrified.

She's not walking towards me—she's running!

And she isn't running to me, she's running away from something—or someone else.

"Ana!" I'm out of the car in flash and she's in my arms, crying, out of breath. I hold her to me. "Ana, baby, what is it?" I kiss her hair. She's trembling. I wrap myself around her tighter.

"Tell me, Ana!" I say.

She looks up. She's been crying.

"Jack," she whispers through sobs.

And I lose all my breath.


	49. Chapter 49

**_Thank you so much for your reviews and favorites, and your continued support of my stories! I appreciate all of you so much! You always motivate and inspire me. xox_**

**_Oh, someone asked where my Fifty Shades of Grey story was posted. I never wrote one. I started with Darker as my very first fanfiction. It may be fun to do after I do Freed, though. _**

"What did that fucker do to you?" I yell out, my panic strangling me for breath, as I hold Ana. A number of possibilities stab through my brain as to what he's done to have her shaking and keening and nearly collapsing to the cement, none of which leave Jack Hyde alive at the knife-tip end of it.

She stills, her tears subsiding as she looks up at me in a haze of bewilderment. She squeezes her eyes shut and I think she's going to faint or be ill, but instead, she bursts out into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

Giggles?!

What the hell?

"It's what I did to him," she says, and continues with this odd bubbling up of laughter.

Oh my God, it's been so horrific that she's having some sort of breakdown.

"What does that mean? Ana!" I shake her a bit, trying to bring her back to reality. "Ana! Look at me, baby. Did he touch you?"

She opens her eyes again. There's no more laughter. The reality that I've brought her back to is grim.

"Only once," she whispers.

He touched her. He fucking touched her!

Every muscle in my body tightens, and the blood in my veins is replaced with hellfire. I have to remind myself that she's cocooned in my arms, because all I want to do is drop everything, run inside and beat the living shit out of him.

I look up to Taylor, imploring him to get started on him, and he gives me an almost imperceptible nod before taking off for the building. One fist clenched and one at the ready on his gun, he scales the stairs two at a time. It's procedure to ready your weapon, but I know Taylor wants to kill him, too.

"Are you hurt?" I ask as I look her over, frantically, for any scrape or bruise or hair that was harmed on her head. All I see is her tear-stained, puffy-eyed, beautiful face.

"I'm okay." She shakes her head and she seems unharmed—at least physically.

But, he touched her...

All I can think is—I was out here, sitting at the curb when he did this to her. His hands were on her skin and I was just on the other side of the walls.

Helpless.

Worthless to her.

"Oh Ana!" I pull her into me, keeping her tight against my chest as I kiss the top of her head. I know I need to follow Taylor inside, but I just want to hold her for a moment before the bashing in of Hyde's skull begins.

From the sounds of the shouting and scuffling coming from an open third story window, I think Taylor's already getting started.

I don't want him to have all the fun.

"Get inside the car!" I say to Ana as I usher her to the SUV. She'll be safe here. And shielded from any flying body parts.

"No! You can't go up there!" she pleads. "You're too upset! I haven't seen you this way!"

"Of course I'm upset!"

"Christian, please!"

"Get inside the goddamn car, Anastasia!" I open the front passenger door, but she's not budging. "What the hell are you doing? Get inside!"

"He might hurt you!"

"Oh, I'll do more to him, trust me."

"No please, stay with me." She takes hold of my arm. "Don't leave me alone."

I hesitate—both to go and to stay. She needs me. But, I need to smash Hyde's head through the bricks.

Again, from the sound of things, Taylor seems to be accomplishing this. That's why we're such a good team. We want to murder the same people.

"Ana, please, stay in the car. I need to take care of this."

"I have to tell you—" she blurts out.

"Tell me what?"

"He has the emails. He tried to blackmail me. That's why he cornered me. He asked me where yours were to me."

The fucking emails!

"Damn it!" I pull out my phone and immediately dial up tech help. I punch the keys so hard it nearly cracks the thing in two.

Fucking BlackBerry!

I'm seriously thinking of switching to Apple because I never want to say the word BlackBerry again.

"Barney," I say, barely giving him a chance to answer. "It's Grey. I need you to access the SIP main server and wipe all Anastasia Steele's e-mails to me. Then access the personal data files of Jack Hyde and check they aren't stored there. If they are, wipe them..."

"All of them?" he asks.

"That's what I said, all of them. Now. Let me know when it's done."

I hang up and pound the keys again to make another call. This one was inevitable, but untimely today.

"Roach. Grey. I want him out," I say when he answers.

"Who?" Roach asks. He's the president of SIP and he sounds like an inebriated owl, if the inebriated owl was also a complete asshole.

"You fucking know who. Hyde. Now. This minute."

"You can't be serious. He's going to New York for that conference. He's going to firm up a lucrative deal with that London-based writer who's flying in special—"

"Call Security. Get him to clear his desk immediately, or I will liquidate this company first thing in the morning."

"Grey, you're talking crazy."

"You don't want to see me crazy. Do it. Now."

"But, what's the reason? I can't just fire him without a reason."

This fucker dares question me?! He certainly lives up to his name—no cock, all roach.

"Listen Roach, you already have all the justification you need to give him his pink slip. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he says, rather reluctantly. "I'll let you know when it's done."

I hang up and turn back to Anastasia. She's standing there, staring at me like I'm the water pulling back before the tsunami lets loose.

"BlackBerry!" I spit through gritted teeth.

"Please don't be mad at me," she says.

"I am so mad at you right now," I say, but I can't look into her eyes, because if I do I won't be anymore. And I need to be mad right now.

"Where exactly is he right now?" I ask.

"Up in his office," she says.

There's a loud scuffle and a thud. Hell, I think Taylor just threw Hyde against his desk.

"Get in the car, Ana!"

"No, please, don't go in there!"

"Ana, I mean it—"

"I'll come with you!"

"Are you fucking crazy? Get in the car!" She stands there, defiant as ever. "Do I have to put you there myself?" I move to pick her up, but she pulls away and somewhat willingly sits inside.

"Don't do anything stupid, please!" she says, clutching the frame of the open door.

"STUPID?!" I close my eyes and clamp my jaw, running a hand over my face, before looking her way again. "I believe I asked you to use your BlackBerry on ninety-seven different occasions!"

"I know I'm sorry."

"Stay there!" I shut her door and take off for SIP.

"Christian!" she calls out for me.

I stop, and turn back around. Her head is poking out of the rolled down window. She's rather adorable.

"Please be careful," she says, and this time our eyes meet and hold to each other. "It would kill me if something happened to you."

I let out a breath. She's worried about me. After everything... she's worried about me.

"Okay," I say. "I'll be careful, baby."

She gives me a small, sweet smile. My ire sinking in the depths of her blues, and born of it a madness for revenge against the man that tried to dim their sparkle.

I take off to find him.

Slamming open the glass doors, I race past the empty security desk (Empty!), up the elevator, and down the hallway, until I see his office. The oversized plaque that announces his title proves his dick is microscopic.

The door is parted and I can see the back of Taylor standing in front of Hyde, who's backed up against his desk.

"You motherfucking piece of shit!" I yell out as I burst through, pushing past Taylor, and grabbing the fucker by the collar. I lift him and slam him up against the back wall.

_Again and again and again. _

"What did you do to her?!" I slam him hard and a framed picture falls off the wall, the glass shattering at his feet. "What did you fucking do to her?!"

He just gives me smirk, which encourages me to keep pounding his brains.

"Sir!" Taylor grabs my arm and has to struggle to pull me off of him. "You don't want to get in real trouble over this."

He means he doesn't want to have to hide a dead body and author a coverup.

I've drawn blood, evidenced by a streak on the wall behind him. Nothing makes me happier right now than seeing his blood spilled by my hands.

"Well, Grey, we meet again," Hyde says, cryptically, holding to his wound as he hobbles to his feet.

"This is the last time I'm seeing your fucking face!" I say. "You're through here."

"You don't control shit, Grey! Not even your little plaything, Anastasia. Who, I have to admit is awfully fun to play with." He deviously smiles.

"I'm going smash your goddamn face in!" I yell.

"Mr. Grey!" Taylor catches me by the wrist before I pummel him. "He's just trying to bait you."

"Oh, its not bait. I speak the truth," Hyde says and runs his fingers along his chin, like an aged professor might do when formulating a thought. "_Anastasia_"—he pronounces every syllable in her name—"has a twisted fascination with me. I rather enjoy it. She was so looking forward to New York..."

"I'm going to kill you!" I yell and he looks troublingly excited by my rage.

"Sir, don't," Taylor says, strengthening his grip on my wrist. "Think about the future."

The future... He's talking about my proposal. But, right now all I can think about is ending this fucker's miserable existence.

"Pack your shit before I throw it, and you, out this window," I say, through gritted teeth.

"I'm calling the cops," Hyde says, so calmly it's terrifying. As he reaches for the phone, Taylor let's go of me and pulls out his gun, cocks it and points it at his hand. Hyde stops, and with a grin born from the devil, he holds up the hand in mock surrender.

"You're an important man, Grey," he says, again with bone chilling repose. How did Ana not tell me this guy is completely psychotic? "I'm not sure how you lucked into all of it, but you have what most men never even get the scraps of." He spits the scraps. He's angry; I can feel it. But, he's the only person I've really known who's anger radiates from his smile.

"You're right. I'm much more powerful than you," I say.

"You're willing to throw it all away on an aggravated assault charge, because your little girlfriend can't keep her tits out of my face?"

That's it.

I lunge forward, propelling myself out of Taylor's grasp, and take a swing. I can feel the crack of my knuckles against his jaw. It feels great! He falls back, knocking a tray of mail off the edge of the desk. He gets up quickly, though. He knows how to fight. And he's enjoying this.

"Are you mad that I touched her? Are you mad that I was almost inside of her?" Hyde asks, effectively shaking me up. My hands fly for his throat, but somehow he throws a blow back at me as his fist skims my eye. I struggle for my bearings, but manage to lob him down and over his desk. His marble solitaire game goes flying. The pieces scatter and roll.

This is a brawl. I haven't been in a good brawl for years.

"The only assault charge that will be filed today is for what you did to Anastasia!" I say, holding him down on the wood of the desk. Taylor's urging me to back away, but I refuse.

He hurt my girl.

Nobody hurts my girl.

"You didn't suspect a thing?" Hyde asks. "When she dressed in those short skirts and tight pants. Don't think I didn't see how high those stockings went up her thighs."

"Do you have a fucking death wish?" I yell as my hands encircle his throat.

"She came on to me, Grey," Hyde continues to spew. "I couldn't turn away the goods."

"Oh yeah, that's why she ran from you," I say.

"She likes to play rough," he says pointedly, with devious mirth.

He read the fucking emails.

I move to really strangle him, He's still got that smug grin on his mug. I can't tell if he likes making me mad or he gets off on me beating the shit out of him.

Oh God. This situation got disturbingly worse upon that revelation.

Taylor takes me by surprise as he grabs my arm, yanks me off of him and stands interference. I nearly trip on the marbles.

Damn, he is strong.

"Don't listen to him, Mr. Grey." He holds out a hand to keep me at bay as I pant to catch my breath. "I found him in here crying out and clutching his balls from where Miss Steele... imparted her wisdom." He stifles a laugh as I now grin.

That's my girl. So wise.

There's a commotion coming from the elevators. Security has arrived.

Fucking finally!

It's like we were our own Wild West show in here.

"Well, I'm glad you've come to escort these two out of my office, so I can file a lawsuit," Hyde says to the guards—a man and a woman who look like they mean business.

Where the fuck were they before? Any asshole could've walked in here. I know, because I did.

And Taylor ran in with his hands all over his pistol!

"Actually, we're here to make sure you clean out your things and leave peacefully, Mr. Hyde," the female guard says, and if I'm not mistaken, she's happy to do this.

"What the fuck? Why?" Hyde asks, livid. His demeanor has changed. Whatever the fuck twisted game he was playing is now over and he's just an asshole again. Perhaps this is how he was with Ana before today. Whatever the case, he's got serious mental issues.

"We were told your employment has been terminated," the male guard says. "Though, specifications were not afforded to us, we were warned you might not leave nicely."

"What are you fucking talking about? Who did this?" Hyde asks them, not nicely. Then, getting the drift, he glares at me. "Grey is God." He sneers, venomous. "But, I don't believe in God, so you have no power over me or my existence."

The mental patient is back.

I want to tell him I own every bit of his ass and the ass over his, and every other ass under this roof, but the damn information is still embargoed.

"You may have heard the rumor that someone bought SIP," I say.

"What the hell does that mean?" he hisses.

"I guess you pissed someone off up top." I shrug.

I'm the one grinning now.

########

Hyde carries his years of employment at SIP in a cardboard shipping box, down the front steps of the building. It's really just a few diplomas, a stack of mail and books, and those marbles that keep rolling around at the bottom. The words: _Express Delivery, _printed in red block lettering on the side, have new meaning as we all follow him to a taxi that will send his ass home fast.

"You'll get the security footage?" I ask Taylor as we lag a bit behind the guards who are bookending Hyde. They had to be rough with him to get him out, as did Taylor. He's threatened to file a wrongful termination suit and to sue me for defamation. Let him. We have more than enough shit on him to permanently disable his career tract.

"Yes, sir," Taylor says. "I'll take care of everything."

I know he'll take care of anything incriminating on my part. The head slams came from a place of good in my heart, but a jury might not see it that way. I also need to have footage of what he did Ana, in case he tries to smear her with his nonsense, though he'd be an absolute fool to take me on.

Hyde throws the box down on the seat of the taxi, then turns back and glares at me one more time, before security asks, then demands for him to get inside. I smugly grin, knowing I've ruined him and wiped that smile off his ugly face.

"Tell that cock teasing little bitch that I'm not going to forget this!" Hyde yells out, before security subdued him again.

I start to go for him, but Taylor stops me.

"He's going, sir. Let him go. We'll handle him. You don't want anyone to get a picture of this." He's right, it would be all over the news and Hyde would turn it in his favor.

I look over to the SUV and spy Ana watching all this out her window. I hate that she heard that. I'm just glad Hyde didn't see she was there. She looks rattled and her eyes follow the cab as it pulls away. She doesn't blink until it's gone.

Oh Ana. Why didn't I stop this?

I pull at my hair. I just want to hold her in my arms, but I'm still so shaken. And I still need to be mad. Because if I'm not mad for a satisfactory amount of time, then the weight of what just transpired lifts. And I can never let what happened to her—or what could've happened, to not be valued by my rage.

"She's up front, I'll drive," I say to Taylor and he hands me the keys. No fucking way am I sitting in the back seat while they're up there, with only a center console between them and a shared radio dial. Plus, I don't want to chance any of his handkerchief shenanigans. She's upset, and we all know when the waterworks start, Taylor's quick with his linen.

I slide into the driver's seat and Taylor gets in back. I'm not thrilled to be chauffeuring him around, but pluses and minuses.

"You did get hurt," Ana says, reaching up to brush the injury below my eye with her fingertips. I try to be tough, but I flinch.

"He got in one lucky shot," I say as I pull out into traffic.

"How many did you get in?"

"Not enough."

My phone rings. The screen flashes _Nerd Barney_ on the dashboard display. Oh God, did I put that in my contacts at one time? Oh, that's right, I have _Bastard Caterer Barney _in there as well. How embarrassing that Ana and Taylor are seeing this.

I press the button on the wheel to answer.

"Barney, I'm driving Miss Steele and Taylor back, what is it?" I emphasize their names so he won't overshare.

"Sir, it's all done. I just wanted to let you know what else we found on Hyde's computer."

"Good. I'll call you when I get home. Thanks, Barney."

I hang up. What the hell did they find? My mind travels to dark places. What if he's been filming Ana in the bathroom or something? Or under her desk? He said he saw her stockings...

I grip the wheel like it's his throat.

"Are you not talking to me?" Ana asks, after we've traveled just two fucking blocks without talking. I don't want to talk. I want to brood and listen to sad piano music. I turn up Yanni.

"No," I mutter, but I reach over and squeeze her hand.

I pull up outside of Escala and Taylor takes my place in the driver's seat to go park the car.

"Come," I say to Ana as I open her door, then hold to her hand as I lead her through the front of the building.

It seems like just yesterday we were fighting our way through that rainstorm together. Well, it was just the day before yesterday. The hours since have been filled mostly with subduing the mentally unhinged, myself included.

"Christian, why are you so mad at me?" Ana asks as we step inside.

"You know why." I punch in the security code, and then fix my eyes straight ahead on the closing doors. "Ana, if he had harmed you, he'd be dead right now." I clench my jaw.

"But, Christian, he didn't."

"I know that, but I couldn't..." I choke back a sob.

"Christian..." She reaches up and brushes my face, so softly, so lovingly.

The next thing I know my hands are fisting in her hair and I'm kissing her, her body flush against mine as I press her back into the wall. I need to feel her like this. I need to taste her. To hold her. The world is right again when we're connected like this.

I pull back and look at her—so beautiful.

"Do you know what you mean to me?" I ask, holding her face in my palms and staring into her eyes as we both search for breath.

"What you mean to me," she says, though I know it could be nothing close. "Don't be mad at me anymore."

"I'm not." I press my forehead to hers for a moment and sigh. "I'm more mad at myself. That I didn't stop this. That I failed to protect you." I look at her and play with a lock of hair that's cascading over her shoulder. "That's why I was so quiet on the drive... My inner demons needed to concentrate on ripping each other to shreds."

"They get distracted by your talking?"

"Yes, very."

"Perhaps you should talk more, then."

"You and your smart mouth. Did Flynn put you up to that?" I ask and she giggles.

The elevator pings open.

"What's going to happen to Jack?" she asks as I lead her out and into the foyer.

"I'm going to ruin him so he can't hurt you or any other woman ever again." I want to ask her exactly what he did to her, but it's too soon. I'm dreading that security footage.

"I heard you kicked him in the balls," I say and my lips twist up in a grin.

"Ray taught me self defense. He's ex-military."

"I'll keep that in mind."

I stop us at the edge of the great room.

"I have to call Barney," I say.

"You mean, Nerd Barney?" she asks, laughing at me.

"Yes." I have to laugh as well at that one. "I won't be long. Gail's cooking dinner."

"Should I make myself at home?"

"This is your home, Ana," I say, adamant. "Make it however you like."

"So, if I want to paint the walls pink?"

"Oh, you know how I like pink." I wink and give her a peck before heading off.

I stop and turn back when I hear Ana greet Mrs. Jones. I'm compelled to watch as there is laughter in my kitchen as I go to work. It's new. Ana's so sweet and warm. And life here somehow feels that way, too. The fact that she's entered so effortlessly into an existence that was built to lock everyone and everything out astounds me. Though the stone wall was mighty and thought to be impenetrable, light found its cracks to seep through.

########

"We found more pictures and videos of his former assistants. Some pretty reprehensible acts," Barney says as I talk to him on the phone in my study.

I cringe. Probably not worse than anything I've done. Though, I'm sure there was nothing consensual about it with those girls.

"Where were the photos taken?" I ask.

"Mostly hotel rooms, business trips."

Oh God, if I hadn't stopped that trip... I throw my head back against my chair and put a hand over my eyes.

"Good work," I say. "I'll get Welch on it."

"There's something else, Mr. Grey. And this could be more troubling for you, personally."

"What?" I brace myself for those bathroom photos of Ana.

"He's been researching your family."

"My family?" I ask, bemused, sitting up again.

"Aside from you and Miss Steele, there are more searches on Google for every member of your immediate family than anyone or anything else."

"What kind of searches?"

"Generic. But, it's the timeframe that rang an alarm for me."

"Timeframe?"

"It started heavily about a week ago, which makes sense, since Miss Steele started working there and all. But, when I delved further, the earliest searches were several years ago, and though not as high in volume as recently, they continued regularly throughout his time at SIP."

"What the hell?"

"There were folders for each name with research saved in them."

"What does that mean—research?"

"News items mainly. Photos. Nothing you couldn't pull easily off the Internet..."

"You passed this on to Welch?"

"Yes, he should have it all shortly."

"Thanks for getting that info. I'll have him look into this further."

"You're welcome, Mr. Grey."

I hang up.

There's an ill feeling in the pit of my stomach as I brush my finger over the screensaver of Ana and I on my phone. The way he looked at me today, the hatred, the creepy smiling, the eerie calm... He may hate me because I have Ana, and maybe he's resented me for years because of my success. Perhaps he researched me because I'm a public figure. I don't know. None of it sits well with me. And, there's one thing I know for sure, now...

Jack Hyde's not going away easily.

#######

I enter the great room and find Ana chit-chatting away with Mrs. Jones, perched on a stool at the breakfast bar. I'm unnerved by the news I just heard, but I don't want to talk about it now. She's been through enough. And, I just want to enjoy dinner with my girl.

"Smells divine, I say sneaking up behind Ana, wrapping my arms around her waist and burying my nose in her hair.

"Dinner will be ready in ten," Gail says.

"Oh yes, dinner smells good, too." I pull myself out of Ana's tresses and smirk, before giving her a kiss on the cheek.

She has wine. I head to the fridge, grab the open bottle and pour myself a glass.

"A toast," I say, lifting it. "To ex-military men who train their daughters well."

"Cheers," she says, but she's gnawing on her lip, and not with sexual inflection. She's troubled.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I was just thinking. I don't know if I still have a job tomorrow."

"Do you want one?" I tilt my head to the side. Is she serious?

"Of course."

"Then, you have one." I smile. "But, only under one condition."

"What's that?"

"You will definitely have to blow off work more than once in a while for really great sex." I smirk and she laughs as she throws her napkin at me.

#######

"Jose called," Ana says as we finish up Mrs. Jones' chicken pot pie. I take a sip of my wine. As if the day couldn't get any worse, I have to hear about the photographer.

"Oh?" I ask, setting down my glass. "Nature still calling him?"

"Christian!" she reprimands. "He's a lovely scenic photographer."

"Yes, good to keep him outdoors."

She didn't find that funny. It wasn't supposed to be.

"Speaking of his photos, he wants to deliver them."

"Where?"

"Here."

"Good, You can give him the address."

"In person."

"A personal delivery? How accommodating of him." I take another sip.

"He wants to go out for a drink," she says and I nearly spit my own.

"With you?" This guy has some fucking nerve. He tried to accost her the last time she was drunk at a bar with him and now he wants to drag her to another bar for more?

"With us. Kate and Elliot should be back. We can make a time of it," she says.

"Yes, terrible. That will be the entire time of it." There are few things more aggravating to imagine than my brother sandwiched between Kavanagh and Jose, drinking beer, and talking about Barbados sand action and lizard portraits.

"Christian, he wants to get to know you better."

"He can read the WSU student newspaper. They did a very in depth interview." I wink.

"Christian, its true. He asked a lot about you."

"I'm sure." The enemy always gathers information before the strike.

"It's a long trip, and as a friend I can't just send him away."

"What exactly are you asking me?"

"Nothing really. Just that he'll be in town, he wants to hang out with our group, and I'd like to offer him a place to stay."

Our group? I'm not a group with these people.

"Fine. I'll book him a room and he can hang out there with the half of the group that isn't us." She glares at me. "What?"

"Well, actually I was wondering if I could ask him here. If not, he could stay at my apartment, but I'd have to stay there with him."

"Why?"

"Because it's polite."

"He made a drunken pass at you! That wasn't polite!"

"Christian, that was ages ago."

"A month. It was a month!" Though, I bite my tongue. I don't want her to rethink the significance of short time frames, especially while considering my proposal.

"We were both drunk. You saved the day. He's no Jack, for God's sake."

"Ethan's there! He can keep him company."

"He doesn't want to see Ethan."

"Well, I know that!"

"Christian!"

"You said Kate will be back. What about her?"

"She'll probably be with your brother."

"As she should be. And I want you to be with me."

"So, he can stay here?"

"Ana, why does he need a babysitter? You visit for a few minutes and then he goes back to his hole. I'll book him at the Fairmont. It's a very nice hole."

"He's my friend. I've barely seen him. Sending him to a hotel is throwing money in his face."

"He should like that," I say and she scowls. "What are we going to do with him after drinks? It'll be awkward. I mean, what if I see him in his pajamas? I don't want to know him on that level. And I don't want you to know him on that level!"

"You know I just want to see my friend," she says, obviously frustrated with me. "I want you to get to know him and see he's not a bad guy. I don't bemoan you for seeing that god awful woman. I'm polite—mostly."

"Who? Elena?"

"Yes, she's your friend and I accept that. I can't tell you not to see her."

"You'd rather I didn't?" I don't know why I'm surprised by this, but I am. I knew Ana hated her, and Elena's been trouble for our relationship, but I guess she's been in my life for so long, I've never thought to live a life without her. And to be honest, before Ana, I didn't think I could.

"Well, yes, I'd rather you didn't, but it's not my place. Just like it's not your place to say I can't see Jose..." she rattles on about the photographer, but I zone out, focused on the fact that she doesn't want me to see Elena...

"Why didn't you say so?" I blurt out.

"I always tell you we're just friends!"

"Who?" What?

"Jose and I." She looks at me like I'm a one handed clock. I missed something.

"No, not about Jose. That you didn't want me to see Elena. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh." She scrunches her nose. "Because you said she's your only friend. I wouldn't try to take that away from you."

The conversation with Elena earlier comes back to me. Elena wants Ana gone. Ana wants Elena gone.

And I want Ana.

And if Ana says yes, there will be no real place for Elena in my life.

I'm coming to the realization that I have to—that I want to let Elena go.

But, like Jack Hyde, she won't go easily.

"I suppose he can stay here," I mutter, still lost in thought. "Upstairs. I can keep an eye on him if he's here." And the headboard pounding reverberates upward. He won't get a wink.

"Oh, thank you!" she throws her arms around my neck, startling me out of my daze, and gives me a quick kiss. "You know if I'm going to live here, too... it's not like you haven't got the space." Her lips twist up in a smile.

"Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?"

"Most definitely, Mr. Grey."

She gives me another peck before getting up to gather our plates.

"Mrs. Jones will do that," I say, pulling her back and onto my lap.

"Are you okay?" I ask as I kiss her hair.

"Okay?"

"After what happened with that fucker today... You don't have to talk about it, but you could...if you wanted."

"I'm okay." She smiles. "But, I'd rather not waste my breath on him right now, when I could waste my breath on you." She leans in to kiss me and I immediately deepen it.

"Let's not fight," I say, pulling back, my nose like a magnet to her hair again. "You smell heavenly."

"As do you." She nuzzles my neck.

"I hate to leave you on your own out here, but I need to work. I should only be a couple hours. Wait for me?"

"Always," she says and I'm practically a puddle at her feet.

#######

"Two stalkers in two days is too much for even you, Grey," Welch says as I talk to him on my phone, pacing in my office.

"Just cut the shit and tell me what you've found out."

"He's definitely had a morbid fascination with you for some time."

"What do you mean by morbid?"

"There's nothing threatening in the files he has on you, or anything a person can't easily pull off the Internet, but any guy saving all this shit is troubling. Maybe you're his billionaire boy toy crush."

"Don't joke about this."

"I'm not. Maybe he was using Miss Steele to get to you. Although, from the tapes I've seen of him with these women, that theory may be blown."

"Can we get any of these women to come forward?"

"I've reached out to a few, but whatever he's done has scared them shitless."

"They have to know I have the power to protect them."

"I'm working on it. Though, something else is troubling."

"What?"

"Two of the women have completely disappeared. Not a trace of them. One woman's family filed a missing persons report, but nothing came of it since she was estranged from them and it was in another state."

"You think Hyde had something to do with this?"

"I'm looking into it."

The fear of God is running through me. If I had never met Ana, she could be one of these women.

"We also looked into Elena Lincoln..."

"And?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary with the kids group. She's actually quite charitable. She's putting one of the boys through college and just gave a scholarship away to another."

"What the fuck?" I yell out.

"Down, Grey! I didn't know you were so against education charity."

"Just keep looking into it! I want to know everything."

"I will. I'll have more tomorrow."

After yesterday and today, I'm afraid to see what tomorrow will bring.

########

After finishing up with work, I rush to find Anastasia. I need to bury myself inside of her right now and just be us.

Although, she's probably not wanting to have sex, after everything that happened earlier. Perhaps I could just hold her. I'd love nothing more right now than to fall asleep, knowing she's warm and protected in my arms.

My search concludes she's not in the great room or the bedroom, so I venture upstairs to the library. But, when I reach the top of the staircase, something is out of place.

I turn to my right and see the playroom door is ajar and the lights are on.

Someone is inside.


	50. Chapter 50

**_Thank you, a million thank you's! Love you guys and I'm so touched by so many of your reviews. Sorry for the delay. xo_**

There's a dull hum and some knock-about clatter coming from my playroom. I pad slowly toward the noise, not wanting to bring attention to my impending presence in case another psychopath has snuck in—or more troublingly, Taylor's cuffed himself to something and is stroking himself with my fur glove. When I push open the parted door and step inside, I'm met with an even more unexpected sight—Ana, in my t-shirt and sweatpants, with her hand wrapped around a gigantic black fuck rod.

A vibrator that is.

She's been inside my drawers.

"Ana," I say, and she startles, dropping the vibrator back into the drawer from whence it came. It's still turned on, so of course it jumps all over the place.

I know the feeling.

"Hi," she says, trying to simultaneously mask her tremulous embarrassment and silence the vibrator. This reminds me of her fumbling with that recording device at the interview and how oddly arousing that all was. She's taken it to a whole new stratosphere with this. Finally, after a string of failed attempts, she finds the dial at the base, and then puts it away.

"What are you doing in here?" I ask, both titillated and uneasy seeing my hopefully soon-to-be fiancé framed by these ox blood walls.

This is where she left me.

"Oh, I was bored... and curious," she says, looking down shyly as her cheeks pink.

Oh God, shy and pink in a room of red is causing the devil's blue in my nutsack.

"A dangerous combination." I smirk.

"Yeah," she says, coyly, playing with a metal object in the drawer that I'm sure she doesn't realize is used to probe an ass.

Oh how I'd love to bend her over right now. My probing fantasies are endless when it comes to Anastasia's ass.

Stop, Grey! You can't think about sex in this room.

Now, there's irony for you.

But, she says she's _curious_...

"So what exactly are you curious about, Miss Steele? Perhaps I can enlighten you." I step closer to her and there's a charge between us. The way her breath quickens, I know she feels it, too. But, there's also a swirl of doubt or consternation coming from her that's driving me mad.

Why the hell is she in here?

"The door was open..." She motions to it in explanation, amazingly answering my unspoken question.

"Oh, yes. I came in here for a moment this morning. I must've not locked it." Odd, I've never not locked that door. Locking it has been paramount to my entire existence. If I've been nothing else, I've been a man who's always remembered to lock things away. Though my mind was on tying a different kind of knot this morning, so perhaps I was lost in a world of veils and I do's. Or, just maybe, I've become the man with no room to remember such things.

"Are you mad?" she asks, and I can tell something's troubling her. Her brow furrows and she twists her lips and I wonder if I should be the one asking her that question.

"About what?"

"I feel like I'm trespassing..."

"Stop, Ana. I was serious about everything here being yours. Even this," I lift a hand and motion around the room.

"_My_ playroom?" she asks, incredulously.

"_Ours_," I say. "That's why I was in here today. I was trying to decide what to do with it all.

I was going to gut it. After last night I wanted it gone. But, when I walked in here I didn't see Leila or Susannah or any of the fifteen. That's all dead and bones to me now. I saw Ana that first time. I remember her pleasure and excitement feeding mine. Right or wrong, I wasn't ready to let go of that yet.

I watch her intently for a reaction, but it's just that same look of measured trepidation as her eyes take in the wood and the walls and all their shadows. Her gaze fixes on the cross, then the hung rope, and she seems okay, that is until she cringes when her eyes lock on the paddles and the canes.

So do I.

I can definitely fucking let go of all those.

"Why so many?" she asks, pointing to the future firewood that is my collection.

"Variety, I suppose." I won't offer up the differences. She doesn't need to know the degree of pain each inflicts. Or which disobedient acts require which instrument.

She makes no commentary on what the future of this room is, or whether it has any at all, instead she looks away from all the trappings—both literally and figuratively—and back to the toy chest. She really is fascinated with it. I haven't made up my mind as to whether that's a good thing or a bad thing yet, so I decide to tread lightly.

"What's this?" she asks, holding up a shiny silver bullet.

"That is what one would call a butt plug."

She drops it. I have to fight a laugh.

"That thing has been in somebody's butt?" she asks with a fingers-to-mouth gasp. She then throws her hand down by her side again as I believe she's realized what those fingers could have possibly just touched.

"Not to worry, that was bought solely for you."

"For me?" she squeaks, then scrunches up her nose. "But, I don't do back door scenarios..."

"A man has dreams," I tease, but not really.

"You dream of my butt?"

"Frequently." I grin. "And I thought we may work up to it one day. I wanted to be well prepared to well prepare your ass."

"Planning for the future, are we?" She smirks.

"Always with you, Ana." I smile, but there isn't a hint of teasing now. She seems a bit surprised by the weight of my statement, or maybe the ease with which I carry it. Always, like more, is word written in indelible ink.

"You buy new toys for all your submissives?" she asks, attention back on the drawer, though I can see she's more careful about what she touches now.

"Some. You, yes. I bought you most everything new."

She lifts her gaze back to me. "Why?"

"I've always had this compulsion to set you apart."

She smiles as she watches me. The wheels are really turning tonight. I'm not sure what idea she's formulating about me in here, but all this secret thinking she's doing terrifies me.

Secret female thinking is my enemy. Cosmo backs me up on this.

"And what are these?" She pulls out a pink multi-bulbed string.

"Anal beads."

"Like jewelry?" The inflection on the mark end of her question is really adorable.

"No," I smirk. "Though they'd look beautiful in your ass."

She covers her face, seemingly aghast, but peeks through her fingers and giggles. There's a properness to Ana that thinks she should be embarrassed by these things, but there's a truer part, one that only I've seen, that wants to explore darker possibilities.

"A bicycle pump?" she asks, frowning as she holds up the end of a contraption.

"Anal expander."

"You mean this...goes up...and you..." She mimics the pumping motion. The look on her face is absolutely priceless.

"It's quite the sensation."

"I'm sure it's a gas, but I'll pass." She crosses her arms after tossing it back in.

"As long as it's not the other way around," I tease.

"You are terrible!" she says, mocking a swat and laughing at my poor attempt at potty humor. That's the first time someone's attempted to hit me in here, but I won't comment on that first.

"I am a miserable son-of-a-bitch, but you love me anyway," I say, though it comes out as more of a question.

"I do," she says with a soft smile.

"If I could buy those two words on your lips I would." I cup her face with my hand and gently brush her lips with the pad of my thumb. "I'd pay every dime I've ever made for those two words."

"Expensive two words," she whispers.

"The best deal I could ever possibly make."

Her eyes stay with mine for a moment, a soft smile on her lips. She sweetly kisses my thumb and I think she's going to say something, but she lets out a breath instead and turns her attention back to the toy chest.

"I didn't realize so many of your toys were intended for my ass," she says, looking down at the lot of them, a bit distressed, though I can't read if it's because she's displeased or because she's displeased with herself that she's excited.

"Well, that's only because you're digging through the butt drawer."

"Oh." She giggles. Fuck, this is going to be difficult. Giggles and ass talk in this room is an explosive combination.

"Do you like the butt drawer, Miss Steele?"

"It's not at the top of my Christmas card list, Mr. Grey."

"You're right. I think that's more reserved for Thanksgiving." I grin.

"Perhaps Boxing Day." She raises a brow in teasing threat, then looks down to the chest again.

"That one holds your garden variety," I say as she opens the next drawer and shuffles through the items inside.

"Like outside sex?"

"No. Not literally." I laugh. "Although I'd love to make love to you out in the wild."

"Mr. Grey!" she feigns shock.

She pulls out a metal clamp and holds it up in question.

"Genital clamp," I say and it crashes back into the drawer again.

No more feigning, that was was real shock.

"Some of those toys in there are for pain, some strictly pleasure," I say.

"Why are they grouped together, then?"

"They're the most intense."

She cuts her eyes to me. "Two sides of the same coin, huh?"

"Yes, Miss Steele. You are a good student." Suddenly I'm imagining her in here with her little Catholic good girl outfit on and I'm done for.

Tread lightly, Grey.

"These?" She holds up a glittery pair of breast adornment that I had hoped to surprise her with sometime. Well, they're certainly surprising her now.

"Nipple clamps," I say. "Those are for both."

"Both nipples?"

"Both pleasure and pain." I smile. "But yes, there are two. One for each nipple."

"They're beautiful," she says as she holds them up and they shimmer in the light. She's awed that the torment of her nipples is such a gorgeous thing.

"I'm glad you like them. I insisted on the best quality and clarity."

"Wait. Are they real diamonds?" She gapes.

"Of course." Does she think I'd work her nipples in cubic zirconia?

"Where did you get them?"

"Cartier."

"Cartier makes nipple clamps?"

"They do if you pay them enough."

Her cheeks rival the walls. God, I'm turned on right now.

"Here, hold out your little finger," I say as I take them from her and attach one to the tip of her pinkie. She flinches, but I think more so out of fear. Once it's attached, she stills, and then becomes intently fascinated with it.

"Does it hurt?" I ask.

"No." She shakes her head, continuing to stare at it.

"The sensation is the most painful and pleasurable just as you take them off." I demonstrate, and she inhales sharply.

"Verdict?" I ask.

"I like the look of them," she says, breathy. "And the feel..."

"Do you, Miss Steele?" I can't wait until I fasten them on her perfect, pink nipples and hear her cry out from the intensity of her pleasure.

I am dying here. Fucking dying.

I have to get these back in the drawer.

"These are adjustable," I say as I pull out another less attractive pair and then dangle them before her.

"What do you mean?"

"You can wear them tight or loose." She takes a quick breath and I notice her squirming.

She's turned on and uncomfortable. I like that.

"And, I take it this isn't a pastry cutter of some sort." She holds the thing up.

"That is a Wartenberg pinwheel."

"A what-enberg?"

"Wartenberg."

"For what?"

"For whart." I wink. She doesn't laugh. Really fucking bad joke.

"Hold out your hand," I say. She obliges and I run the small spiked wheel back and forth over her palm. "Imagine this over your breasts. The sensation." All the fine little hairs on her arms stand on end.

"It appears this has caused an erection of the papillae," I say with as much salaciousness as can be afforded to a word like _papillae_, while I brush her skin.

She gasps. "What's that?"

"Goosebumps." I laugh, as does she, and then I put the wheel away for hopefully another day.

"Clothespins?" She picks one up and snaps it a few times in alligator fashion.

"You can do a lot with clothespins."

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make an ordinary, everyday household item like a clothespin sound so seductive?"

"It's because I'm imagining what it would do to you." I exhale, letting off the steam of just thinking about it. "Are you done with your investigation, Miss Steele?"

"Nope." The way she pops her _p_ makes me think of her lips around my dick. Or bending her over the chesterfield and popping something else.

Tread fucking lightly, Grey!

She's quite eager as she kneels down, and I have to adjust myself as she opens the final compartment on her knees. Did she really have to fucking kneel like that in here?

She gasps, her mouth open wide at what she discovers, appropriately, considering it's the gag drawer. And I don't mean jokes.

"Ball gag," I say as she picks up the contraption and stands, not concealing her distaste. "To keep you quiet."

"Soft limit." She waves a hand in protest.

"I remember. But, if you were concerned. You can still breathe fine. Your teethe clamp over the ball." I do my best to demonstrate with my fingers.

"Have you worn one of these?" she asks.

"Yes." I brace, as I'm never sure how she'll react when instances of my past with Elena are brought up.

"To mask your screams?" Her voice trembles, a mixture of not yet shed tears and an avalanche aimed to take someone down.

I shake my head. "No, that's not what they're about. It's about control, Anastasia. How helpless would you be if you were tied up and couldn't speak? How trusting would you have to be, knowing I had that much power over you? That I had to read your body and your reactions, rather than hear your words? It makes you more dependent, puts me in ultimate control."

She's staring at me. I think I got lost in the moment. Fuck, now she's got that troubled look again.

"You sound like you miss it," she finally says, after watching me for far too many uncomfortable seconds.

I don't know what to say. If I told her no, I'd be lying. But, I'd also be lying if I told her yes.

I shrug. "It's what I know." I look down, all at once ashamed that I know any of it. It's a lot easier to ignore who you are when nobody sees you. You can be a twisted fuck inside and be respected out there amidst the masses unknown to you. A suit, a chiseled physique and a well trained mind do wonders. That's why Elena said it was so important to keep all this locked away. She said it would protect me. No one could see how ugly I was inside if I didn't show them. Maybe she was right about that, as I feel like an open wound at the moment. Too ugly for Ana. And she's seen all of it.

"You have power over me. You know you do," she says in a whisper.

"Do I?" I look up at her. "You make me feel... helpless."

"No! Why?" She reaches out and touches my arm.

"Because you're the only person I know who could really hurt me."

"Oh, Christian...that works both ways. If you didn't want me—"

"That could never happen," I say, adamantly. "I don't want to hurt you. That's the last thing I want. I love you."

"And I love you so much, Christian. You know, I was just thinking about today, with Jack—"

"That's why you're here isn't it?"

"What?" She cocks her head.

"After what happened with him. You needed to see the things I do." I swallow hard, air difficult to come by. "You think I could be like him and you had to see for yourself. Before it was too late."

"Christian..." She reaches over and strokes my face. "After what happened today all I can think about is..." I brace for it. "You are my one and only hero."

"Hero?" I'm befuddled.

"Hero. Mine."

"I am?" I ask, hopeful and stunned, and not masking any of it. She nods, with her dazzling grin.

"You kicked him in the balls and got away."

"But, you were there when I needed you most. You got rid of him. You protected me. Heroes rescue in many different ways."

Well...me, a hero. That's truly a first, Miss Steele."

"No, that's an always."

_Always..._

"Oh, Ana, you make me feel... you make me feel _always_..." I reach out and cradle the nape of her neck, then bring her mouth to mine. Her lips are so soft and pink, like velvet rose petals.

"Are we finally done with the show-and-tell now?" I whisper against her lips as I nod to the toy chest.

"Why? What do you want to do?" she purrs. I can feel her hum against my lips.

"I want to..." Oh, fuck me. We can't. I pull back fast. "Not that. I just want to hold you in bed."

"Why not that?" she asks, and she seems offended.

"Ana, you were nearly attacked today."

"So?"

"What do you mean, 'so'?"

"I'm fine."

"When I think of what could've happened to you..." I clench my fist imagining Hyde's face of the other end of it.

"But, it didn't." She touches my arm. "Christian, when will you realize I am stronger than I look?"

"Ana, this has nothing to do with strength. You need to take care of yourself. Self preservation."

"Christian—" she starts, but something catches her eye in a half open drawer. The one that holds restraints.

"What's this?" she asks, picking the metal thing up.

Oh God, not that. That's one of my favorites.

"That's a spreader bar," I say, and though I turn my head, my eyes stay glued to it.. "It's got restraints for wrists and ankles." I point, trying to act nonchalant, but acting the fuck chalant all over the place.

"How does it work?" she asks as she licks and moistens her lips.

"Do you want me to show you?" I say, then close my eyes. Fuck, why did I ask that in here? It was the wet lips. I guess I can't say that wasn't me talking. That it was actually my dick using me to further his shameless agenda.

"Yes, I want a demonstration. You know I like being tied up." She purposely bites her lip as she hands it to me and backs away toward the bed.

"Oh Ana." I groan, grabbing her hand and pulling her back to me. "Not in here."

"Why not?"

"I want you in my bed, not in here. Come." I hurriedly lead her out of the room.

"Why are we leaving? Why not in there?" She's trying to pull me back. Fuck.

I stop in my tracks and turn to look at her, conflicted, confused. I'm doing a good thing for us, why is she making this more difficult?

"I want to go back," she says.

"Ana..." I shake my head. "You may be ready to go back in there, but I'm not. Last time we were in there, you left me."

"I'm not going to leave you if we play a little. That's why I was in there. I just want to play."

I look at her, dumbfounded. What kind of warped universe are we living in? She wants to go in my playroom and I'm running for the hills?

"You don't understand..." I let go of her hand and run it over my face. "That has never been a casual, play a little room for me. I don't even know how to do that. Especially after the last time. We don't have any rules..."

"We have trust," she says and I let out a sigh. "What? What is it?"

I take a moment. This isn't the kind of thing that comes forth easily.

"You know how when an addict cleans up his life and he's sober and things are great, and then he slips up at a party or a bar, and takes a sip of a drink..." I close my eyes tight for a moment. "I don't want that to be me."

"You think you're like an alcoholic?" She looks at me with disbelief.

"For lack of a better comparison. Yes, I do." My mother had crack and I have all that shit. "The compulsion has completely gone away now. And I don't want to throw any temptation out there. And just being in there with you now... I can't. Because I love what we have now. And I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I know you. And I saw the look on your face last time. And you promised me."

"I just can't trust myself in there. At least not yet. And I can't bear to hurt you because I love you."

All at once, she throws herself at me. I'm taken off guard, but quickly fall into her embrace. Her hands twisting in my hair and her lips capturing mine. I'm so lost in her, I drop the spreader bar and the metal clangs to the floor.

Holy shit.

"Do you want me to fuck you on the stairs?" I say as I pull back, cradling her face in my hands, both of us heated and wanting. "Because, right now, I will."

"Yes," she says.

Damn. Whatever's coursing through her veins, they should market.

No, I can't fuck her in the hall, Taylor might be lurking. He's always lurking somewhere, especially anywhere dark with corners.

"No. I want you in my bed." I scoop her up and throw her over my shoulder, giving a good smack to her behind. She squeals and giggles, and I'm all smiles and erection as I dip to pick up the spreader bar.

I dash to the bedroom, and once we cross the doorway, I set her down near the foot of the bed. She steadies herself on the frame.

"I don't think you'll hurt me," she says, her chest heaving up and down as she searches for breath.

"I won't. I promise, Ana. Never again." I set the bar down on the mattress and ravage her lips and neck.

"I want you so much," I groan against her throat, but before I go too far I look up at her again to double check. "Are you sure about this—after today?"

"Yes. I want you, too." Her eyes are soft and dreamy as she nods.

That's all I need to hear now.

My hands magnetize to her body, sliding over her breasts, along her waist, and the length of her curves. I'm ready to see her naked, but as I reach the hem of her t-shirt to pull it off, she pulls back and away.

I thought she said she wanted me.

"What's wrong?" Fuck, she's changed her mind, already?

"I want to undress you."

"Okay," I say, after a moment's pause.

My body stills, straight and rigid as she lifts her hands. With measure, she reaches for my top button to unfasten it. She pauses, searching for my approval, and I nod for her to begin. I try to breathe my way through it, watching as her fingers twist and slip it through the hole. I'm doing well, until the side of her hand accidentally brushes my chest unexpectedly, and I flinch.

She pulls back. "I won't touch, not if you don't want me to."

"No," I say, grabbing her hand and placing it back on my chest again. "Do. It's fine. I'm good."

I hold my breath as her fingers slide down the panel of my buttons, unfastening each one until my shirt is open and my chest is bare to her.

"I want to kiss you here," she whispers as she lightly brushes a smattering of hair in the middle of my chest.

I take a breath. "Kiss me?"

"Yes," she says.

The trembling, the sweating and all the alarms setting off in my body tell me to shake my head, to set my limits, to keep her away... But all of everything else she's awakened in me automatically produces a nod and a fuck-off to whoever I was before.

She dips her head, her hair tickling me as she plants the sweetest feather-like kisses across my heart's center. There's a twist of pain on contact, but not as sharp as the last time, and it soon turns into that now familiar feeling of fluttering wings. The kind a caterpillar grows after he's served his time in solitary.

I let out a deeply held breath and my shoulders drop. I'm surprised to find that I'm beginning to relax. Closing my eyes, I picture her soft kisses dissolving my scars. And I marvel that it actually feels like it's happening.

"It's getting easier, isn't it?" she asks.

I nod and open my eyes to watch her peel the fabric of my shirt off my shoulders. My breath hitches and she halts. With her gaze held to mine, she breathes deeply and slowly, imploring me to follow her. I begin to match her breaths, rhythmic and unhurried, until we're so in sync we're like one complete person. And I barely notice when my shirt falls to the ground.

"What have you done to me, Ana?" I stare into her eyes, spellbound. "Whatever it is, don't stop. Please, never stop." I wrap my arms around her and pull her in for a kiss.

"Oh Christian," she says, tilting her head back.

"Oh, baby," I whisper in her ear, running my hands down her body. My erection pounds against her belly and I gasp as she reaches her hand down and strokes it through the fabric of my pants.

"Do you feel how hard I am for you?" I whisper into her ear, grinding myself into her hand and pelvis. She nods, her lips brushing mine. Just as my tongue finds hers, she surprises me by sliding down my body and dropping to her knees on the floor.

"Ana," I pant. Her nimble fingers find the button of my pants and my zipper, and before I know it she's stroking my erection through the thin cotton of my boxers. "Whoa!" I inhale sharply.

She looks up at me, playroom style, through her lashes as she slides her fingers inside my pants and my boxers, and tugs everything on the bottom half of me down to the floor. I'm immediately sprung to action.

"Mmm..." she hums, looking at my erection, then licks and parts her lips as she takes hold of my shaft. She kisses me at the tip, then begins circling my head with her tongue, collecting the dew that's already formed. Once satisfied, she slowly, firmly slips me between her lips until I'm buried inside her mouth.

"Oh God," I moan, watching my length enter and leave her lips, each time wetter and warmer.

I run my hands through her hair, pumping back and forth as I throw my head back and groan. When my tip slips just beyond the edge of her throat, it's all too much. But damn, I don't want it to be over so soon.

"Ana." With all my will I try to pull back, but she grabs my hips and holds me to her.

Damn. That was unexpected.

"Please," I say, and I realize I'm begging. "I'm gonna come, Ana."

I can feel her lips spread into a smile around my cock.

God, is that sexy!

I begin to lose focus on why I'm trying to control this when it's so fucking good, so I pump faster. I'm so deep I could wink at her tonsils.

"Ana!" I call out as she slurps and sucks and finally lightly bears her teeth, working my length with her hand at the same time. My cock jerks and I spill the contents of my euphoria down her throat. The champ that she is, she continues to milk me until every last drop has been swallowed.

I open my eyes, panting, wondering if I'm actually still alive after that as I look down at her. She smiling and wiping the corners of her mouth with her fingertips. Maybe I am dead and she's my angel. Though, I never expected an angel to be so good at blow jobs.

Once I'm back to earth, I realize something. I know why she's smiling. And it's not because I eat a lot of pineapple and she swallowed Hawaii. Ana had me begging...

"Oh, so this is the game we're playing, Miss Steele?" I bend and pick her up from the floor, bringing my mouth to hers.

"I can taste myself. You taste better," I murmur against her lips as my hands slip into her sweatpants. I fondle her against the lace of her panties, circling my fingers over her swollen bud. "The things I want to do to you..." Her hips flex against my fingers. I think she may come like this.

No, I'm not letting her.

"I need you naked." I pull away and divest her of her clothing items and my old Harvard rowing tee-shirt, and then back her onto the bed.

"You are so beautiful, Anastasia," I say as I watch her, sprawled out on top of the duvet, naked and panting with want. "I've never seen any woman so beautiful."

"You are one beautiful man, Christian, and you taste mighty fine." She grins, smacking her lips, and I give her a wicked grin in return.

Time to have some fun...

I reach for the spreader bar. Keeping my eyes focused on hers, I wrap the leather around one of her ankles, making sure it's not too tight and not too loose.

It's just right.

"We'll have to see how you taste. If I recall, you're a rare, exquisite delicacy, Miss Steele."

She gasps and squirms a bit, while I hold to the other ankle and cuff it. The leather pulling against her flesh has my heart racing.

"The good thing about this spreader is, it expands." In a swift move, I slide her ankles apart and lock her into place. She bucks a little, effectively testing the restraints.

Fuck, is she hot.

"Oh, we're going to have some fun with this, Ana." I reach down, grasp the bar and flip her onto her front. She squeals and my dick comes back to life.

"See what I can do to you?" I twist it and flip her again. She's breathless and giggling and I can only imagine how wet she is.

"These other cuffs are for your wrists." I point them out to her. "I'll think about that. Depends if you behave or not."

"When do I not behave?"

"I can think of a few infractions." I run my finger along the sole of her foot, pressing with my nail, and she squirms.

"Your BlackBerry, for one."

"What are you going to do?" she challenges.

"Oh, I never disclose my plans..." I grin, and crawl like a predator up between her legs.

"Hmm. You are so exposed, Miss Steele." My eyes remain on hers as I run my fingertips in circles up and down her inner thighs. Her quivering urges me on.

"It's all about anticipation, Ana. What will I do to you?" I whisper as I reach the creases just before her groin, running my thumbs up and down them, repeatedly. She's pulsating, wanting my fingers elsewhere.

"Remember, if you don't like something, just tell me to stop," I murmur, and bend to kiss her belly. "Do you want me to stop now?" The heat of my breath just above her promised land.

"No... Oh please, Christian!"

"Oh, Miss Steele. I've discovered you can be merciless in your amorous assaults upon me. I think I should return the favor."

My fingers trace her dripping slit. She's so ready for me. I push one, then two fingers inside of her, moving them around in her until I find and focus on her g-spot.

"You never cease to amaze me, Ana. You're so wet." I dip my head and run the tip of my tongue down her belly until I find her clit.

"Oh, Christian," she cries and shivers.

"I know, baby," I say as I circle and blow.

"Please!" she cries out in desperation, her body twisting and her hips gyrating. I firmly hold her down.

"Say my name," I whisper against her.

"Christian," she pants.

"Again," I swirl my tongue around her bud as my fingers work inside of her.

"Christian, Christian, Christian Grey," she cries out.

I know my girl. She's about to explode.

"You are mine," I say and with one flick of my tongue, she comes apart and inside my mouth.

While she's still in throes of her orgasm, I take hold of the bar and flip her onto her stomach.

"We're going to try this, baby. If you don't like it, or it's too uncomfortable, tell me and we'll stop." I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her to me, so she's on my lap.

"Lean down, baby," I whisper in her ear, finishing with a nip. "Head and chest on the bed."

She wobbles into place, still quaking from her recent pleasure. I take both of her hands and cuff them to the bar, next to her ankles, and then adjust her so her ass is high in the air for my taking.

God, it's a sight to behold.

"Ana, you look so beautiful..." I run my palm down and around a cheek of her wide-open ass.

"When you're ready, I want this, too." I gently brush her puckered hole with my fingertip. She's come so much I know I could just use her own wetness for lubrication and slip my finger inside, but I stop myself. "Not today, sweet Ana, but one day...I want you every way. I want to possess every inch of you. You're mine."

The way her breath hitches and she moans something garbled into the mattress, I know this turns her on.

I pull my hand away and I can hear a whimper of pout. I grin as I grab a condom from the bedside table, fix it on my length, and line myself up to her opening.

I don't tease for long. I slam into of her.

"Argh!" she cries out.

"You okay?" I still.

"Gently...let me get used to this."

I slowly ease out of her and into her again, allowing her to accommodate my girth in this position.

"Yes, good, I've got it now," she says.

I groan as I pick up the pace. My sweet, brave, beautiful, so tight and wet girl.

"Oh God, Christian!" She cries out, throbbing and tightening around me.

"Tell me what you want, Ana."

"You," she breathes.

Hissing through my teeth, I pick up the pace. I run my thumb over her wetness, slide my way to her asshole and start to stroke her there. I'm careful to not push inside, but I want her to feel the sensation of assplay, especially while she's on the verge of release and so wide open.

"Christian!" she cries out, moaning from the sensation.

"Come for me baby." I continue my efforts, and she screams my name as she detonates around me.

"Ana, baby," I groan and it only takes me three more thrusts before I come deep inside of her.

#######

"I could watch you sleep forever, Ana," I say as she stirs in my arms in bed.

"I was asleep?" she yawns, picking herself up off my chest, where she had nodded off, postcoital. I kept her there. I liked her weight on me and the way my breath rocked her to sleep.

"You flickered out in afterglow." I grin and kiss her forehead.

"I guess you wore me out," she says and I smile as she moves down and snuggles into my side.

"How do you feel?" I peek down to check.

"Thoroughly well fucked."

"So crass, Miss Steele." I laugh. "I'm serious. I know it was a lot."

"I liked it. It was intense. I want to try it again soon."

"Okay." I smile.

"And I liked how you touched me there."

"Where?"

"You know." She tucks her head into me, embarrassed.

"I don't know. Ana," I play innocent. "I touched a lot of places."

"Christian, you know!"

"You mean, your sphincter?"

"Yes. Oh my God! I can't believe you just said that!" She nudges me because I'm laughing.

"Are you rolling your eyes?" I ask.

"Will it earn me another round like that?"

"Yes."

"Then definitely. But, not right now." She yawns and tucks into me. "I'm sleepy. Maybe tomorrow."

"You're making the rules for punishments now, are you?"

"I'm a lousy submissive."

"I know." I smile and kiss her hair. "I never want to let you go."

"Hmm. I never want to go. Never let me go," she whispers.

"I need you," I say. I worry for a moment when she doesn't respond, but I can hear her breathing and I know she's asleep.

I should sleep, too.

I lift the hand she's resting on my arm and move it to a place where I can get comfortable—over my heart.

#######

My phone buzzes and with one eye open I see it's Elliot and it's three AM.

Oh fuck. Not again.

I remove myself from the bed as quickly and quietly as possible, so as not to wake Anastasia, and make my way to the great room before I answer my brother's drunk dial.

"What is it—"

"Dude, her dad caught me with my dick in my hand."

Yep, the margaritas have taken affect.

"Okay Elliot, I don't want to know. Go to sleep."

"Bro, I'm in serious shit here. I need advice."

"How'd he catch you? Urinating or sexually performing?"

"Oh yeah, like I'd really call you because he saw my junk in the public John."

"Where were you?"

"Kate's room."

"With Kate?"

"No, she went to sunrise yoga with her mom. I was gonna surprise her. And he walked in to get her mother's sweater that Kate borrowed at dinner last night and he caught me jacking off. Like, the last part, too."

"I thought you were waiting for Kate to do that."

"Yeah, but there's not a lot of good TV here."

"So what happened?"

"I waved, because I thought the distraction of my moving hand might take the focus off my cock, then I threw the first thing I found over my dick and ran. Problem is, it was her mother's sweater."

I think they need to check his birth records again to see if he was born with a full brain, or vast portions were removed at a later date.

"He's coming after me, I know it!" he says.

"Where are you now?"

"I'm hiding in my room."

"Because he'll never find you there." I roll my eyes.

"Can you talk to him?"

"Me? What the hell?"

"You do business with him. You're both assholes. He'll know he can trust you."

"And tell him what? Call his cell in Barbados and say my brother was just manually passing the time before his daughter came home and he could fuck her?"

"Tell him I'm a good guy. Like I'm a sleepwalker or some shit."

"That's even worse. You sleepwalk to his daughter's room, get naked and toss your salad, and then run out with his wife's clothing over your dick? That's serial killer level." He's laughing. "What are you laughing about?"

"You said _toss my salad._" He's in hysterics.

"Elliot, deal with your own shit, please."

"Fuck, I have to meet them for brunch at eleven."

"Just pretend nothing happened. He probably wants to forget what he saw just as much as you do." Although if it was my daughter and some punk had Ana's sweater all up in his scrotum, it would be wrapped around his neck—his dick, not the sweater.

My daughter?

Gulp.

"Should I bring the sweater to the brunch?" he asks.

"No! Have it dry cleaned—twice. And have it delivered while they're out. Good luck."

"Thanks man."

"Call me if he kills you."

I hang up. My brother really is an idiot.

Since I'm up, I check my email on my BlackBerry. I scan over a shitload of work correspondence, until I stop on a report from Welch and pull it up.

It's the itinerary of Elena's activities. He told me earlier nothing has been out of the ordinary since I've placed her under surveillance, but I decide to look anyway.

Talk about a superficial life. After our meeting all she did was shop. Except she had dinner with someone. A young woman. A brunette.

Oh fuck her, she better not be trying to find me a submissive again. That would be just like her to try some shit like that and hand deliver one for my birthday. She did that one year and that's how I got my first long term.

There's a photo of them at an outdoor cafe. I zoom in and have a look at her, so I'll have a picture of who to put on the no-fly list downstairs and at the office, and I'm taken aback. I know this girl. I can't place it at first, but then it hits me. It's Meredith—or Merry. She's a submissive alright, but that's not why I know her face.

She's Leila's best friend.


	51. Chapter 51

**_❤❤❤ Hope everyone had a good Valentine's Day and saw Darker. Thank you for your reviews and support! xox_**

"I don't pay you for beauty winks, wake the fuck up," I growl into the phone in my study at Welch.

"It's four in the morning, Grey. You're lucky I picked up at all." I can hear the fucker yawning. Lazy bastard.

"You're lucky I don't knock off a zero on your paycheck to go with your head!"

"Jesus. What's got you so upset?"

"Elena Lincoln had dinner last night!"

"I know, I found it difficult to believe that she doesn't live solely off of sacrificial blood, too."

"Not that she ate food, who she ate with."

"Some girlfriend of hers. So?"

"So? If you would've properly investigated, you'd know who. Her name is Meredith Quinnlan."

"I did and I know exactly who. What's the big deal? She works in a dermatologist's office. No crimes or misdemeanors. She's pretty boring."

"She's in the community!"

"Yeah, so are a lot of other people Lincoln deals with. Not news."

"Well, it's news to me when Meredith is Leila's best friend."

"Are you shitting me?"

"No, I am not shitting you. I do not shit. Especially not at four in the morning."

"Are you absolutely sure it's the same girl?"

"Yes! I never forget a name or face in a dossier."

"I've been over and over Leila's files and I didn't see anything." He wasn't the one who compiled the original one, as he didn't work for me at the time. But still, he should've been on top of it.

"You didn't look far enough back. They roomed together when they were younger. Before I set Leila up in an apartment."

"Well, I never got a whiff of Williams and this broad having contact in the past couple of years. Not a call, not an email."

"They may have fallen out of touch when Leila got married and moved. I don't know." I rub my eyes with my free hand. "But, Mrs. Lincoln was not friends with this woman. I am damned sure of that."

"Maybe Mrs. Lincoln was just talking shop tonight— or dungeon or whatever."

"Hilarious. Investigate this. Now."

"Grey, I would tell you if I thought this dinner added up to something. But, honestly, they were probably just discussing Botox package deals."

"Oh right, and she'd have duck l'orange and a bottle of the their best red with a receptionist to get this deal? Give me a fucking break."

"So, you actually think your friend tried to fuck you over with Leila? I mean, like risking your life?"

I'm taken aback by the question. No, Elena wouldn't want me harmed. She's not like that. At least not outside of her playroom. And if it was just me we were talking about I'd probably agree with Welch and drop it. But, this about protecting Ana. And I won't take any chances. Ever.

"I don't know what she's up to or why," I say. "I just don't want any stone left unturned. Now, do your goddamn job!" I end the call.

What the hell game is Elena playing? She's not going to be playing it for long, I'll make damn sure of that.

Speak of the fucking devil.

Elena's number flashes on my screen. What the fuck is she calling me for now? Although, she always phones me at times the rest of the world is asleep. She says that's our thing—to dwell in the ungodly hours.

I start to pick up and call her out on her little dinner bullshit, but I pause.

Ana said she wishes I didn't talk to her...

I place my phone down onto the wood of my desk and watch it buzz, shaking and shifting across the grain. My eyes fix on it, on her name flashing, and my palms start to sweat. There was a time I'd be severely punished if I didn't answer her call, and I guess my body always remembers that. How strange now to be waiting for a thing I ran to to end. Yet, there's something oddly satisfying about watching the life disappear from her call.

When I see the message alert, I press play.

"Christian, umm.. it's me," Elena says. The rough hush of her voice sounds as if she's twisting her noose of pearls and sipping on whisky. "I had a few things to discuss with you about the meeting yesterday and your birthday. And... well, I thought you might be up. I'm sure Anastasia is sleeping, and I know how you can't... She's lucky she's not like us." She sighs. "What did you say once? Only the devil and you and me find each other at this hour..." Did I fucking say that? Weird.

She lets out a flutter of laughter and then there's awkward silence, as if she's realizing she's alone on the line, and has been all along. "Anyway, I just thought I'd call... We can talk this afternoon." The hope in her voice is unsettling, as is the way she holds on the line for several moments after the message is over. And the breath she lets out as the line reluctantly goes dead.

What the hell am I going to do about her?

I cross through the great room to get a glass of water in the kitchen, where I find Taylor rummaging through the refrigerator in his jogging shorts and a sleeveless sweatshirt that says: Handled It. What he just handled, I don't want to fucking know.

"What are you doing?" I ask, halting his gathering of eggs from the side door. He reminds me of a squirrel hoarding nuts who just got caught by the beam of a flashlight.

"Good morning, Mr. Grey. I was just collecting breakfast for myself."

"It's 4:15."

"Yes, I'm a bit behind schedule, sir."

"Do you always eat breakfast at this hour?" I ask and he nods. How have I not noticed? Although I'm usually balls deep in my piano piece when he's doing this, and he's a master lurker. "Wait, how come I never smell you cooking your eggs?"

"Oh, I don't cook them, sir." He cracks a few in a glass and swallows them back.

"You don't cook your eggs?" I ask, horrified.

"Protein for muscle," he says. "It's leg day, sir." The last thing I want to imagine, after witnessing Taylor swallow like that, is his calves pumping in my gym.

"I've just had a security briefing, Mr. Grey..."

"And?" With his fucking dramatic cliffhangers!

"I spoke to Ryan, sir. Jack Hyde hasn't lodged a complaint of any sort. Not a hint of a lawsuit. He hasn't even left his house."

"Well, good. He has a fruit loop of sense after all."

"I don't like it, sir."

"Why not?"

"You saw him yesterday. He was adamant about retaliation."

"He knows we have surveillance footage on him, on what he did to Ana." I can barely get the last words out. I know they're going to have to shackle me to stop me from breaking his neck when I see it. "He's leaving with a severance package. I'm sure he doesn't want it all over the news that he's a sexual predator. He would never get a job again." Though, I'll make sure this happens anyway.

"Yes, but... I can't believe he's going without any sort of fight at all. I'd be careful, sir."

"He's probably plastered and passed out right about now. Look for something tomorrow when his hangover wears off. But, you're right. We'll take no chances. Make sure SIP is securely covered."

"Yes, sir. It's already done."

"Good."

"And Keely Kirkpatrick is on the flight now."

"Who the hell?"

"The editor from _The Knot_, Mr. Grey."

Oh, my engagement coach!

"Oh right! Good! Send her to me as soon as she arrives."

"Yes, sir." He smiles. "Are you up for the day, now?"

"No," I say as I grab a glass and fill it with water from the dispenser on the refrigerator door. "I'm going back to bed with Miss Steele."

"You know, we haven't jogged in nearly two weeks, sir." He seems proud of this fact. Oh, I get it. It's because I've spent every moment tangled in bed with Anastasia or weeping over her absence.

"I don't think I'm jogging with you anymore," I say.

"Why's that, Mr. Grey?"

"Because you're living, breathing salmonella."

He chuckles as I take off for the hallway.

I make my way into the bedroom and find Ana sprawled across the entire mattress—head on her end, ass on my mine and legs like an anticipatory scissor slice. It's lovely to see her at home in my bed like this, though it's like a puzzle for me to get in.

So, I do what I have to, so I can sleep comfortably. I gently crawl into the sliver of space she's afforded me beside her. Smiling into her hair, arms wrapped around her, I'm gleefully happy to have place in even the tiniest corner of her world.

And it's there I find rest.

#######

A man keeps screaming that he wants my sex. He sounds gritty and vaguely British, and for some reason he makes me feel like dancing.

I wake to discover it's a song on my alarm. I fumble, reluctantly untangling from Ana, to find my phone on the nightstand that's blasting George Michael's _I Want Your Sex_. I didn't put this on here. I have to smile—Ana must've.

"I like your choice in music, baby," I whisper into her ear as I wrap around her again. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Mmm..." she hums as I nuzzle her, pulling her flush against me. "I thought it fit you."

"I think I fit you." I nibble her ear and gently roll my erection into her backside.

"You seem pleased to see me this morning." She grinds back against me.

"I'm always pleased to see you." I run my hand down her belly. She's not wearing panties, so I decide to explore. Not that a patch of delicate lace would stop me.

She hums and squirms in appreciation of my travels.

"There are definite advantages of waking up next to you." I wrap a hand around her waist and move her so she's on her back next to me.

"Advantages?" she asks and I smirk.

"Sleep well?" I ask as I slowly circle her clit with my two fingertips.

"Yes," she whispers and begins to roll her hips in rhythm.

"Do you want these inside of you, Miss Steele?" I run the tips up and down her slit, just pausing at, then circling her opening.

"Hmmm..." she tips her head back and grins.

"You'll have to do better than that." I play with her.

"I want them..."

"Where?" I whisper, my breath warm against her throat.

"I want them inside of me," she murmurs and I slip one, then two fingers into her."Oh, Ana, you're always so ready."

"For you," she groans as I pump them in and out. She's absolutely dripping down my hand.

"I want you now," I say and spring up to rid myself of my pajama pants and grab a condom from my dwindling dish. I've used more of those things in the last month than my entire life. "I fucking can't wait until Saturday." I straddle her on my knees, ripping open the packet.

"Your party?" she asks as she reaches up and helps me roll it on my length. Damn, that finger work is sexy.

"No. I can stop using these fuckers."

"Aptly named." She giggles.

"Are you giggling, Miss Steele?" I hold to her hips to prevent her bucking.

"No," she says, still giggling, as I push the hem of her t-shirt up to expose her breasts.

"Now is not the time for giggling." I lean in and tug at a nipple with my teeth. She yelps.

"I thought you liked it when I giggled."

"Oh, there's a time and place," I say as I tease her slit with my erection. I can't tell where her throbbing ends and mine begins, but it won't be long before we both explode together. "Now is not that time. I need to silence you. I think I know how." I line myself up and push inside of her, and all at once the giggles turn to groans.

########

"What's with the change in the menu?" I ask Ana as she eats granola for breakfast, sitting on the stool beside me. It's a rather small portion, but the nutritional value and fat content are exceptional, so I'm pleased.

"I like something unexpected now and again." She smirks, rather seductively.

"Do you?" Fuck, I'm getting hard over her cereal. "I'll have to keep that in mind."

"Please do, Mr. Grey."

"You look lovely," I say, admiring the way her skirt hugs to her hips as she perches her ass on the edge of that stool. It's pencil style, and it has me sharpened better than a brand new number two.

"You look lovely, too," she says and fingers my collar. Fuck. I like it when she plays with my wardrobe items.

"We should go shopping and buy you more of these." I slowly run a finger from her knee to her hip.

"Shopping with you? You're likely to purchase the whole store."

"Good idea." I smirk.

She rolls her eyes and takes a hefty raisin and Brazil nut bite of her cereal.

Raisins and Brazil nuts with dripping milk amid eyerolls does wicked things to me.

I look over and notice Gail watching us as she pretends to wipe the counter.

"Careful, Gail," I say. "You may put a hole in it." She laughs and quickly moves to the next spot. Still staring.

"I wonder what will happen at work today," Ana says, as I brush away a spatter of milk from her bottom lip with my thumb. Her lips form around my thumb-tip and she sucks the dribble off.

Damn.

"They'll have to replace that sleazeball." I grimace as I take a sip of coffee.

"I hope they make it a woman."

"Why?"

"So you won't be out of your mind jealous."

"A gay man will do, too." I laugh. "A very old one with erectile dysfunction."

"Is that going on the job description?"

"Yes. I'll make sure of it."

She laughs, but I can tell she's still nervous. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"What if they think I'm a trouble maker and fire me?"

"Right." I snort.

"What's so funny about that? You're not going to interfere are you?"

"Not unless anyone tries to fire you." She is so willful, but I can see a smile crack through. I'm hopeful that there's a small part that likes me taking care of her. "Eat your granola, if that's all you're having."

"Yes, sir," she smirks and takes another bite.

"Wait," she says, throwing down the spoon like she just witnessed Santa Claus triple ho his way down the chimney with an overstuffed sack. "Don't I get to drive my new convertible today?"

Oh fuck.

#######

"You put the key in the hole in the middle," I say, demonstrating the turn on-and-off again at the center console from the driver's seat in the Saab.

"Christian, I know how to turn on a car." She's sitting in the passenger seat, watching me with a furrowed brow.

"But, this is different."

"How?"

"It's in the middle."

"Got it. In the middle. Key in hole. Turn. Vroom." She rolls her eyes. They're getting quite the workout this morning. I desire to slam something else in another hole and turn it on, but we'll be late and I still have forty-five more pages of instructional manual to go. I ordered the extended version.

"Now, this is the parking break." I point.

"Christian, please. We've been at this for over a half-hour."

"Safety takes time, Ana." She smirks. "This is no laughing matter."

"Trust me, I'm not laughing."

I reach over and take hold of her chin. "Such a smart mouth this morning."

"What are you going to do about it?" She raises a brow.

"That's for me to know and you to find out over the hood of this car at a time of my choosing."

She smiles and bites her lip. My cock shifts his own gear.

"Now then, where were we?" I ask. "Perhaps a lesson in windshield wiper speeds?"

"Christian, we're going to be late."

"Okay, it's not raining this morning. We'll resume your lessons later. Just buckle up so we can go." I turn the key in the ignition and fasten my seatbelt.

"What are you doing?" she asks, not buckling.

"Driving you to work."

"Oh no! You said I could take my car."

"We are taking your car."

"Christian!" She turns the key off. She's got that key in the middle part down pat. "Taking my car doesn't mean you driving."

"Who says?" I say and she raises a brow. "But, I haven't taught you about the blinkers or high beams or the pitfalls of morning rush hour traffic."

She gives me a stone cold serious look and I reluctantly unbuckle and exit the vehicle.

"If you aren't careful, it's both our funerals," I warn.

She jumps out of the passenger side and races to the driver's seat, squealing the whole way.

"You're quite excited about this," I say, not able to hide my grin at her glee, as I buckle myself in to what Elliot calls shotgun. Appropriate, since it'll probably kill me.

"This is the best! I've never had a convertible before!" She immediately presses the button to roll the top down.

Oh hell.

"Oh no, Ana! No!" No matter how much I protest, the world above keeps revealing itself to me.

"What's wrong?" she asks as she pulls out entirely too fast.

"We didn't go over this in the manual," I say as she rounds a curve to leave the garage. By rounds I mean corners it like Daytona.

Fuck, she's pressed the seat warmers and my ass nearly has third degree burns. I suddenly worry that there's a way, with all this speeding friction and summer weather, that these can overheat and explode the vehicle. I quickly turn them off. There's no need for a warm ass in June.

"The smell of the new car is so good!" She takes an elongated whiff. Her hair is blowing all over my face. Actually, I kind of like that.

"You could smell it better if your top wasn't down." She gives me a look. "Not that top, for once." She giggles at me and makes a sharp right, forcing me to hold on for my life.

"Ten and two, Ana!"

"What?"

"Your hand position on the wheel." I point. "That's like 1:30 and 7:45!"

She moves her hands, but only to 3:00 and 9:00. But, I'll take it.

"This is so much better than the submissive special—I mean, the Audi A3," she says, catching herself at the end.

"Submissive special?" I laugh. "You have a way with words, Miss Steele."

"Well, I was a English Literature major." She grins and turns on the radio.

"What are you doing?"

"Playing some music."

"No, no music in traffic surrounded by open air." I turn it off again.

"Christian, I always listen to music when I drive." She turns it on.

"But, you've never driven a car with the key in the middle before." I turn it off and hold my hand in front of the dial. Of course she rolls her eyes, but she grants me this peace.

"It has ski racks, too!" she says.

"Don't even think about it!"

"What about when we go to Aspen to collect my prize?" She teasingly smiles and winks.

"First of all, there's something in your eye, there." I point and she laughs. "And second, third and forever you're not driving through the mountains in this thing and you're not skiing."

"You ski."

"Not the point."

"What? What will I do in Aspen, then?"

"Drink cocoa and have sex."

"While you're skiing?" she teases me. I hope she's fucking teasing me!

"Not funny, Miss Steele," I grumble.

She shakes her head, laughing, and guns the engine.

"Ana, it's too fast!"

"It's barely twenty miles an hour."

"Too fast!"

"I see Taylor behind us," she says, looking in the rear view mirror and waving. I look back and he's waving in return, all chipper. Fucker.

And suddenly I'm pissed off that he's watching the ass of her car.

"Keep your eyes on the road!" I say as there's signal action and she changes lanes, and I almost lose my morning frittata.

When the hell did this turn into Mr. Toad's Wild Ride?

"Ana, there's a red light!" I hold my arm in front of her to prevent her crash through the windshield.

"At the next block!" she says.

"Well, you should be preparing."

She shakes her head and slows to halt when we reach the light.

At least I get a minute to breathe. I look over to her, so sexy with her hair all wild and her hands wrapped tight around the leather of that wheel, but she's deep in thought about something.

"Come back to earth, Ana."

"What?" She looks at me.

"You're very distracted. You know, accidents happen when you don't concentrate."

"I'm thinking about work."

"Baby, you'll be fine."

"I mean it, don't interfere. It means a lot to me to do this on my own."

I open my mouth to speak, but her hand flies up in the air to stop me.

"Let's not fight," she says. "We had such a wonderful morning and last night was... heaven."

"Yes, heaven..." I say and the memory lifts my smile. "I mean it Ana, I don't want to let you go."

"I don't want to go."

I dip my head, perpetually amazed that Ana can make me feel so vulnerable, yet utterly invincible, all at once.

I bask in her loveliness. That is until the light goes green and it's Indy 5-Ana, again.

"Ten and two!" I yell as we fly.

"Christian, you're completely overreacting," she says as we finally pull up in front of SIP.

"We nearly had a twelve car collision." I clutch my seatbelt, thankful to have survived.

"When?"

"When you stopped at that last light. You were inches from that last car and it would've been dominos."

"Inches. Yes, I was inches away from a car at a red light, stopped, with all the other stopped cars."

"I'm glad you agree."

"Oh my God," she says, shaking her head as she turns the key in the middle off.

"That's what I said the whole time!"

She starts to get out and I motion to stop her. "Stay put." I then exit the vehicle and move to her side to open her door.

"Thank you," she says and smiles when I take her hand to help her out.

"You nearly killed us," I whisper as she stands up, and I encircle her in my arms.

"You loved it, Mr. Grey."

"Oh, Miss Steele..." I lean in for a kiss. "I love you. So much."

"Wonderful drive, Miss Steele," Taylor interrupts us, getting out of the SUV he parked behind. "You seem to really have a handle on the vehicle."

"Thank you, Taylor." She beams and I glare at him.

"Let me walk you to your office," I say to her, taking her hand to lead her away.

"Don't forget we're seeing Flynn at seven," I say, as we walk.

"I won't. I'll compile a list of questions."

"Questions about me?" Fuck, what's she going to ask? I thought she had just one—is he sane enough to marry?

"Yes. A few."

"I can answer any questions you have about me." Shit, what if she wants details about Elena? I don't want any images of me being pegged by a strap-on in Ana's mind.

"Yes, but I want an unbiased, expensive charlatan's opinion."

"Is that a good idea?" I cringe.

"If you don't want me to, I won't." She squeezes my hand. "What are you worried about?"

I stop us just before we reach the front doors and brush a lock of hair behind her ear. "That you'll go." I exhale.

"Christian, how many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going anywhere? You've told me the worst, and I'm still here."

"Then, why haven't you answered me?"

"Answered you?"

"You know."

"I just need to know that I'm enough for you."

"And you can't take my word for it?"

"Christian, this is all new. And exciting. But, you have needs. Needs that I can't fill. And one day you might meet a girl who likes those things that you do. You might leave me for her."

I scoff. "I've known plenty of women who like the same things I've liked. And none of them are you. No one ever could be. I know that, down to the depths of me. And I'm not a man who changes his mind."

"You once told me that we could never start again if I left. You had it in writing. And you changed your mind."

"Yeah, but that should tell you something about who I am now. With you." I lean in to kiss her head. "And you never signed that stupid piece of paper," I whisper into her hair.

She's smiling as she pulls back and brushes my cheek with her fingertips. "I'll miss you today," she says, and then leans up to give me a sweet, soft kiss.

"I'll miss you, too." I kiss her again. "I wish you'd come work for me."

"I already do." She grins.

I watch her walk up the steps and through the glass doors. She turns back and waves goodbye. I wave in return and lock my eyes on her until she disappears. And I keep watching for a few moments, even after she's gone.

#######

"Anything on Hyde?" I ask Taylor as he pulls off into traffic.

"Not a word, sir." I can see he's still troubled by this.

My phone buzzes and I quickly move to answer it, worried it may be something to do with Ana and her job.

Nope. It's Elliot.

"Dude, I'm alive," he says, jubilantly, as I answer.

"Did Mr. Kavanagh ignore the incident like I told you?"

"No, he called me on it at brunch, right over the fucking ceviche. And it's not like American ceviche, it's like fish heads and asses and shit. And explaining why my dick was in my hand in his daughter's room while a flounder's last look in life is staring back is real shit, man."

"He did this with Kate and her mother there?"

"No, they were in the restroom."

"So, how did you clear it up?"

"It was like lightning struck my head with the idea. I told him I had a terrible infection and I was applying medication when he came in."

"Yeah, lightning struck your head alright. Are you fucking kidding me? You told your girlfriend's father you have an STD?"

"I didn't say that."

"What did you say to explain yourself?"

"Nothing."

"Well, then, you pretty much said that."

"There aren't just sex infections to get down in shuttle command. I could've not washed for a couple weeks and got like hygiene problems."

"Well, let's hope for your sake he thinks you're disgustingly filthy instead of a whore."

"Oh shit. Those aren't good options for a dad. They're big on baths and abstinence."

"How did he react?"

"He just stared at me, ate on some fish ass and they came back."

"Oh God, Elliot." I don't know which is more disturbing about this story. My brother and his dick-in-hand problems or the fact that he calls a tail, fish ass.

"Maybe it won't be so bad," he says. "You know, since he knows I'm responsibly taking care of my situation. And I don't smell."

The car pulls up in front of my building.

"Elliot, just fess up. Or better yet, tell him his daughter is a pure virgin and you just have to take care of yourself."

"Even he wouldn't believe that!" Elliot laughs.

I shake my head. "Find a chaste infection on WebMD and sell it to him. Good bye, Elliot."

"Hey! We're coming home in the morning. We'll be at your birthday if he hasn't harpooned me."

"Mia's going overboard. I don't want a birthday party. I just want to spend time with Ana at home."

"Dude, you got it bad. Next thing I know you'll be walking down the aisle, getting your balls locked up."

"Yeah, maybe." I grin.

"Shit, dude. Have you really been thinking about that?"

"Elliot go find a suitable disease. I'll see you Saturday."

I hang up and Taylor opens my door.

"Taylor, could you have the security code changed for the elevator at Escala today?"

"Is there a security risk, sir?"

"I don't want Elena Lincoln having such easy access anymore."

"Yes, sir." He's twisting his mouth up in a grin. "What should I change it to?"

"050911," I say.

The day my life began.

#######

"What time are we leaving tomorrow?" Ros asks me, walking back to my office from a meeting. "I'm looking forward to the helicopter ride."

"Yes, it should be nice weather. A smooth flight. We can leave at nine."

"Great."

"Listen, can we discuss the meeting later, I, uh, need to make an important call," I say as we reach my office.

"Yeah, and tell your girlfriend I said hi." She shakes her head, laughing as she walks away.

Am I really that transparent?

"Mrs. Lincoln is on line one," Andrea says as I pass her.

"Tell her I'm tied up," I say and halt abruptly. "No, don't tell her that."

"Huh?"

"Just tell her I'm in meetings. And make sure security downstairs knows not to let her up without notifying me first."

"Yes, sir." She looks delighted about this. Does everyone secretly hate Elena?

I rush into my office and shut the door. Before I call Ana, I decide to call Flynn.

"Christian, what?" Flynn answers, sounding sick of me. Yes, it's my third call today, but fuck him. He has a summer house and college for his kids paid for because of my mental health deficiencies.

"I wanted to remind you what a good husband, I'd be."

"I'll see you at seven." He hangs up. Fucker. But, I figure I'll use his psychology bullshit back on him. Like Pavlov's dog, if he hears those words enough he'll react accordingly when Ana asks him the question.

My BlackBerry buzzes.

It's Ana.

"Baby, I was just about to call you," I answer. "Is everything okay?"

"They've just given me Jack's job!" she squeals. "Well, temporarily."

"What? You're kidding me." I'm literally floored. What the fuck is Roach playing over there?

"You didn't have anything to do with this?"

"No-no, not at all. With all due respect, you've only been there a week."

"I know. That's what I thought, too. Apparently, Jack really rated me."

"Did he now?" Fucker.

"You sure you didn't have anything to do with this?"

"Why do you doubt me? It angers me that you don't think I tell you the truth."

"I'm sorry. It's just hard to believe. It's like... this is my dream."

Her dream.

Roach better not be trying to fuck with her dreams.

"What do you think?" she asks.

"Baby, they saw how good you are. I have no doubt you can do this."

"Thank you, Christian."

"For what?"

"For always believing in me."

"Baby, I know you will do great things."

"I'm not sure where to start."

"Get set up in your new office and take command. I'm serious. Let them all know who's in charge. The bar is set from day one."

"I can't be all bossy. I was just an assistant—"

"And now you're in charge."

"Okay, I have so much to do."

"You'll do fine. And call me if you need me. I may know a thing or two about being bossy."

"Okay." She laughs and then kisses the phone before we hang up.

I know Anastasia can do this. She should do this. She's smarter than any of those fucks over there. But, my question is, why are _they_ doing this?

I immediately dial up Roach.

"What the hell kind of game are you playing with Anastasia Steele?" I bark at him.

"Well, hello to you too, Grey."

"I'm serious. Why did you give her Hyde's job?"

"How'd you find out about that so quickly?"

"Never mind. Answer the question."

"She's been an excellent employee. Jack used a majority of her ideas this past week. And, the truth of the matter is, she's fucking cheap."

"What the hell did you just say?!" I clench a fist.

"She's a college grad. She gets a nothing salary. Let her babysit his job a few weeks before we find a new one. We save, she gets a little experience... she's back to being the assistant again."

"So, this job is only for a few weeks?"

Her dream...

"Yeah, when you take over we can hire someone experienced. It's just paperwork and bullshit for the next month or so, anyway. Anyone could do it. Why not hire the cheapest?"

Her dream...

"What if she does a great job?"

"What?"

"You said she's an excellent employee. What if she's an excellent editor?"

"With all due respect, Grey, she's a kid."

I'm seething.

"If you recall, I was her age when I started my company."

"Yeah, but this girl isn't you. She's a bookworm, not a businesswoman."

If I could bust his face in through my phone I would.

"Adjust her salary," I say.

"What? Why? She'll work for shit. She agreed to it. Take advantage of that. It's smart business."

"Adjust her goddamn salary."

"To what?"

"Whatever Hyde was making."

"That's nearly a quarter of a million!"

"And?"

"That's why we hired her. To save money. We still have to pay out Jack. Why the hell would we pay her that? You've lost your mind!"

"Equal pay for equal work. Grey Enterprises prides itself on that. We'll shell out the extra. And don't think you can replace her without my approval. I'm keeping a trained eye on this situation. If she succeeds, the job is hers for good. Period."

I slam the phone down.

Nobody is taking her dream away.

#######

"Left knee or right knee?" I ask Keely Kirkpatrick, the helmet coifed blonde who's sitting across from me at my desk, taking notes in a cream quilted binder. It's like she made her ring bearer's pillow into a planner. She's wearing a Chanel box coat, a gray string of pearls, and she's one of those women who constantly smells like she's trapped in a cloud of baby powder.

"Excuse me?" she squeaks out.

"Etiquette," I say. "Do I get down on my left knee or my right knee?"

"Well, there's really no right knee," she says.

"So the left one?" I ask.

"No..." she laughs, then pretends to cough to cover it up. "I mean, it's preference. Whichever you're comfortable with."

"I'm comfortable knowing the answers to these things ahead of time. That's why I flew you out."

"Oh, Mr. Grey, have I told you how excited I am to work with you?_ The Knot_ is a magazine that represents you well."

"In more ways than you know."

"The whole flight out I thought, I am excited!" She smiles with a joy that teeters between elation and constipation.

"Wonderful."

"I just love weddings and engagements! So much so, I did it five times."

"Planning for clients?"

"No, for myself." She laughs. There's that joy again. Oh God. I hope it was divorce and she's not a secret black widow. I better have Welch double check.

"Yes... well, this is a one-shot deal. No do-overs." I get up and start to pace. Her eyes tick-tock between me and her pillow planner. "I need it done properly. And by proper I mean very traditional, while totally over-the-top and opulent."

"Have you talked to her father?"

"Oh, I'm not that traditional. I'm not asking for a dowery."

"To get his blessing."

"Oh God, that's a thing, isn't it?" She nods. Shit, I have to talk to Ray. I've only talked to him once and that was mostly about fishing and Wanda—the car. That was the day it was sprung on him that we were dating. When she was actually going to be my submissive. He didn't know that, but still... that was May, this is June.

"Can dads really stop these things?" I ask.

"Well, I suppose it depends on the family dynamic."

Shit, family dynamic is Ana and him. Period. And here comes an invader with a penis and a ring.

"Don't be nervous. Dads tend to know when these things are coming. How long have you been dating your lady love?" She gives me a glossy grin.

"Five weeks."

"Oh."

"Yeah, he won't see it coming," I say. "I'll worry about that later, once everything is in place. Now then, I need more information. Is there a certain ceremony expected with the downward plunge or do I just stop, drop and propose?"

"Depends on your theme," she says.

"Hearts and flowers. That's my theme. Big hearts, big flowers. I mean, not actual big flowers, but a lot of them."

"I have all sorts of ideas to expand on that, direct from our pages at_ The Knot_." She pulls out a few tears from the magazine and sets them up to show me, one-by-one. "Country simplicity?"

"No, I'm not proposing in a barn."

"City splendor?"

"On the street?" I ask, disgusted.

"That's candlelit Tuscan cobblestone."

"Too street for me." I take a closer look. "I'm not putting my knee down there and she's not risking her neck in Louboutins on those death trap cracks!

"Some choose not to get down on one knee at all and break with tradition. One special couple, who we gave an online feature to, had a man who was on horseback at Disneyland, dressed as Prince Charming—"

I hold up a hand. "No." Me, in a costume? As a Disney character? With actor animals? Would never happen.

"No, nothing cute like that. Listen, I'm not a girl. Obviously. I didn't grow up believing in fairytales. But, they've since grown on me. I just need to know how I can make all of her dreams come true... without riding on horseback at Disneyland."

"The surroundings should be curtailed to the bride. We believe that at _The Knot."_ She says the name so much it's like she's a walking advertisement.

"I know. I read the magazine. By the way, those braided updo's were atrocious. I've seen better work at the racetrack."

"What does your hopefully soon-to-be fiancé find romantic?"

"She was a reader growing up. British literature. Austen, Bronte, Mister Darcy and all that."

"So an English garden, perhaps?"

"Yes, something like that. But, more... I don't want her to feel like she's stepped into something that might appear in her favorite book, I want her to really believe she's there, living it, in her dream come true."

"Okay. When did you want this to happen?"

"In a few weeks. Perhaps over the Fourth. Maybe a destination..."

"How much are you thinking about spending?"

"I don't know. A hundred."

"Dollars?"

"Thousand." I flew this woman out here and she honestly thinks the destination I want to go to is a wild night at the Cheesecake Factory?

"A hundred thousand dollars?" She gapes.

"We can go higher if we need to."

"That's not the wedding."

"No, of course not."

"Does that include the ring?"

"No, what kind of a cheap prick do you think I am?"

Andrea buzzes. "Mr. Grey, your florist is here."

"Good Send him in." I turn to Keely. "He can help us with the big flowers."

"Mr. Grey," Armando practically sings as he sweeps through my open door. "You still give me no hug?"

"No." I wave him away.

"You play so hard to get." He air kisses me. He's in violet panther print pleather today. "I told you the bewitching virgins would do the trick and get you back to the big lovin' again."

"Yes, you were right." I look over at Keely who's nose is scrunched, perplexed.

"The virgins are flowers," I say to her.

"Of course."

"No, that's their name. They're roses." Why am I explaining myself? "Let's get to task and work on this engagement."

"Who's she?" Armando asks, tipping his cat eye glasses for the once over.

"Keely Kirkpatrick is an engagement expert," I say.

"From _The Knot_," she quickly adds as she holds out a hand he doesn't take.

"I am an engagement expert!" he says and the tap of his pink pointed leather loafers tells me he's not happy. "I thought you thought my work was the boom boom."

"The what?" I ask.

"The tick tick," he says.

"You mean the bomb?" I ask. He nods. "Yes. That's why I brought you in. We're all going to work together on this. You're the flower king, she's the pomp and circumstance."

"She's the something or the other." He sneers.

"Hey," I say. "None of us have to work together. If you'd rather leave, I can collect paychecks."

"No. I been here since my virgins. I'm not going anywhere." Armando perches onto the sofa at the opposite end from her. There's a lot of side-eye and subtle snarling going on. I swear, he's just one swat way from a cat fight.

"Now then, we're thinking English garden on steroids," I say.

"I do everything on steroids," Armando says.

"But, he doesn't want to overpower the moment," Keely says.

"Ha! You don't know Mr. Grey at all! He loves to overpower all of the moments."

"Listen, I want flowers. An explosion of flowers. So many flowers next Valentine's Day is canceled because they're out."

"Who's out?" she asks.

"Life."

"I can give you that, my friend, Grey," Armando says, practically spitting it her way. "I can give you what you need."

Oh Lord, why do I feel like I'm about to be part of some twisted triangle with my florist and Box Coat from The Knot.

"What I think Mr. Grey needs first is the ring," she says. I always do best when I can see it. Then we can build the whole experience tailored to that."

"Yes, the ring," I say and pick up my phone to text Taylor: _you and me at Cartier 3pm._


	52. Chapter 52

**_Thank you for your patience and the love you have shown for this story! I'm truly thankful and appreciative for all of your reviews, comments, follows... xox _**

* * *

"It's a magnificent specimen, sir," Taylor says, admiring the gigantic piece cradled in my hand.

"Did you expect anything less from me?" I ask as I stroke the smooth elongated edges. I didn't notice it was so smooth and elongated before. I like that. I hold it up to the light so we can both fix eyes on it. It's quite awe inspiring, if I do say so myself. When I manipulate it, it's like it shoots off the Northern Lights.

"No, sir. Nothing less. But, it is rather on the large side. I'm not sure how one accommodates that on a daily basis." He looks concerned. Fearful, even. He cocks his head to one side like a dog might upon hearing a high whistle.

"Of course it's large. That's how you know it's good. You've never seen a small one wow a woman before, have you?"

"No sir, but I've never done a proper survey." Of course he hasn't. I don't think he's ever really given one to anybody, either. Well, his first wife. It was probably Cracker Jack, but they had a kid and all. He really should give it to Gail by now. It's been years.

"Taylor, I need you to role play something for me," I say, turning to face him, with my item, straight on.

"Right now, sir?"

"No next week over cotton candy and a carousel ride. Of course now!"

"Okay, sir." He looks wary.

"You're on a beach..."

"Like Normandy, sir?"

"No." I roll my eyes. It's always war fantasies with this one. "Like the tropics, late at night, it's balmy…"

"Is there a full moon, sir?"

"I don't fucking know. Why does it matter?"

"I'm trying to envision the tide."

"Taylor, this is my fantasy, just skip down the lane with me, will you?"

"I thought it was a beach."

"It is a beach! It's a fucking beach!" He gives me a troubled look. "I mean, not an actual _fucking_ beach like an orgy sex beach, just a beach. The sex happens later in the cabana with wildflowers surrounding."

"Yes, sir. A beach." His adam's apple bobbed so I think that he gulped.

I hold up the piece in my hand. "Now then, I need you to imagine that this thing's just popped out from a box after dinner. What would you think?"

He stares at it for a moment, head again tilted. Less woof whistle in his cock now and more algebraic assessment.

"It is cut quite nicely, sir."

"That's what you'd think?" I frown. "We're on a romantic beach and all you can think of is how well it's cut?"

"It's certainly impressive, Mr. Grey. The dimensions are spectacular."

"He's not wrong," a voice sounds from across the red velvet sheet that Taylor and I are hovered over. He's been a voyeur this whole time. "What you've got there is the cut of a princess, Mr. Grey."

I look over and see Donald, my longtime jeweler at Cartier, nearly pissing hallelujahs as Taylor and I audit the vast array of large well-cut diamonds he's displayed.

Yes, we've come for Anastasia's ring.

"A princess is fitting," I say, and for a moment I imagine Ana, my princess, walking down the aisle with a veil and a train and her ring sparkling in the late afternoon sun as she holds to the arm of her father. The single best moment of my life will be when she lets go of his to take mine.

That is if she says yes…

_The ring has to be perfect!_

We're in a private suite on the top floor of Cartier—Weddings, China and Stationery. I'm not sure why that's a traditional grouping, but I guess once you tie the knot you eat at home a lot and send monogrammed correspondence.

It's always been something of a myth, an enigma—this place up here that's only accessed by a spiral staircase and sealed away behind two gilded doors. Elliot says it's where you trade your two rocks for one and then hand it off to your wife to hold over you forever. He has a point, but then again I quite like the idea of Ana wearing my testicles.

And speaking of rocks, I'm getting hard as one imagining my C and her A wound like vine around a triple-sized G. I must have that stationery!

I've watched people make their way up here over the years, usually a man alone, or on occasion a happy couple that annoyed the shit out of me—the happiest couples always have. All the while, I was choosing a pair of earrings or a choker for a girl who was disposable to me. I never understood relationships without expiration dates.

I have, my whole life, acted as if I couldn't care less. This ruse paramount to my existence. To care meant something could be taken away, and I could have no part in more loss. But, deep down—because we all have a deep down—I have been curious about a man who makes up his mind on one girl. A man who walks the steps and sits at the table and buys the ring. How many lists of pros and cons—figuratively and literally—he's made to get to that place of two, forever. I've since learned it isn't a thing you think at all, evidenced by my blurting out on my knees in the dark. Terribly unromantic, but terribly from the heart. Yes, terribly.

I rationalized back then that those marrying men were idealistic and stupid, after all love was supposed to be for fools. Although, after walking that staircase today, the evidence of my nerves trailed along the banister from my palm, and sitting here before a red sheeted countertop covered in the worth of some small nations alongside Taylor and an idiot salesman, I'm thinking that maybe it's true. Love is for fools.

And maybe that's the point.

"Can I offer you some more bubbles?" Donald asks—with a raise of two brows that reach so creepily close to his hairline he could be an owl—as he pulls the bottle of Dom Pérignon from the ice bucket. It's not lost on me that I'm drinking _Dom_ as I choose Ana's ring and officially relinquish my status as one forever. The universe has a sense of humor. I never noticed before.

"No, I need to concentrate," I say, holding up a palm in refusal.

Taylor, on the other hand, holds out his glass like he's some sort of Studio 54 Oliver Twist, begging for some more. Donald eagerly obliges with a long pour. Taylor fingers, then drops two golden raspberries inside his bubbled-over flute from an offered tray, and then snags a bite of hard cheese. I swear, you give Taylor a piece of fruit that's the wrong color and some moldy dairy, he thinks it's Mardi Gras.

I shoot him a look.

"I enjoy a Bellini now and again, sir," he says, and then sips, catching a piece of the fruit on the swallow. The way he sucks that raspberry back will haunt me for years.

"How much were you looking to spend?" Donald asks. He keeps straightening the red cloth the rings are laid out on, ironing the creases out with his spindly digits as if he fears I may call off the rest of my life if there's a flaw in his presentation velvet.

"Well, they say about two months salary," I inform. "But, I'm not sure you have anything for around forty-eight million lying about."

There's a pause. A gaping of his jaw which causes the triplicate in his chin to flap a little. He's deciding if I'm kidding or not.

I'm not.

"We could look," he stammers. Of course he could.

The violinist, a middle-aged man wearing suspenders with little French horns on them, is playing the theme from _Romeo and Juliet _now. I hate _Romeo and Juliet_. There's nothing romantic about drinking poison. Kate and Elliot sucking face is a perfect example.

Why is the violinist promoting French horns? That's like a clue they'd use to solve a double homicide in one of those crime detective shows. He was a fraud from his brass to his bow.

"You know when you contacted me about rings, I was stunned," Donald says as he hands me another choice. "I had no idea you were so serious in a relationship with anyone."

"Have we ever discussed my personal life before?"

"No, sir."

"Let's not break with tradition." I slide a dramatic marquis onto my pinkie and wiggle it in the light to test the refractory response. This one is no rainbows, all bullshit. I discard it onto the sheet.

"Of course. I won't pry." Donald leans in to whisper, with odd intensity, "Just know, I support you. _Fully_."

"Thank you. Fully," I say. What a mental case. Maybe he's just drunk. He's been drinking my share.

"I have a cousin in Sedona with your situation." He motions his head, I guess in the direction of Sedona, like I know what the hell is in Arizona, aside from another one of his idiot kin. "Two kids and a Rottweiler now."

"Really? The dog or the husband?" I mutter.

"Let me also reassure you that we here at Cartier hold no judgement," he says.

"Judgement? For what?"

"Your…_lifestyle_, sir."

"My lifestyle?" What the fuck? After all these years? If they were going to judge me for my lifestyle, I'd think we'd be having this discussion over that piece of pelvic jewelry I have on order for Ana that resembles a vagina chandelier and not an engagement ring.

"We think it's wonderful that you two are so happy," Donald says, flashing his equestrian off off whites, smiling at me, then Taylor and then back at me again.

Oh hell.

"I'm not marrying Taylor!" I spit out.

The violin music halts.

"Oh, I thought—"

"You think I want to buy this guy and his gorilla paws a forty-eight million dollar ring?" I gesture to Taylor. "He'd be happier with the coal."

Taylor nods in agreement.

"Oh, I just assumed—"

"Who do you think I've bought all my jewelry for over the years?"

He shrugs. "Your mother?"

"You think I'd buy nipple clamps and a vagina chandelier for my mother?"

The violinist starts up again with a voluminous commitment to tragedy.

"I do apologize," Donald says.

"Enough." I wave him off. "I'm here to buy a ring _for a woman. _The one that I love and I want to spend the rest of my life with. The one who's made me a kinder, gentler, more forgiving man. Now, how the fuck big is this?" I hold up the love child of Liz Taylor and the Queen of England's most prized gems.

"Sixteen going on seventeen, sir," Donald says of the carats.

"Perfect!" I say. "It's like the Sound of Music to my ears."

"It's got accents, too," Taylor says, all strained and flustered, like he's kicking out a shit that just won't let him go. "How big are the accents?"

"Three carats," Donald says. "Each."

"That's twenty-three carats of diamonds, sir!" Taylor'a really worked up over this. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"Perhaps we can remove the accents…" Donald says.

"And break up the family?" I ask. "No way."

"Sir, I'm concerned about the size—" Taylor says.

"Since when are you so afraid of large rocks?" I ask him. Maybe some boulders fell on him in battle—or the day he was born.

"As your head of security, I just greatly fear for Miss Steele's—or rather Mrs. Grey's safety if she wears a ring that massive out in public on a daily basis."

Oh God, he's right. She's already a kidnapping and ransom threat. And once she's my fiancé, and then my wife the threat levels will rise astronomically. I have a terrible vision of some thugs trying to cut off her finger for it—or worse.

"No accents!" I shout and I think I scared Fraud French Horn because he halts the violin carnage again. "I need something more demure, lovely. Large, but nothing that will signal ships." Or hitmen.

"Here are some of our more classic designs," Donald says, sounding disappointed about the size-down, as he pulls out a few more from his case. Hell, I still want to pay the forty-eight million to give Miss Steele her due. "The Cartier Destinée, the Cartier D'amour, oh and the 'You're Mine' special design—"

"That's it. You're mine. That's the one," I say, until I look at it and see it's cut in the shape of a heart. She wants hearts and flowers, but that's too fucking tacky—and tiny. Too bad, the name was perfect for us.

"Not that demure and lovely!" I say in dismissal of the rock—or pebble. "Make sure it's gone through puberty first."

The violinist starts again.

I've had enough!

"They die at the end!" I say. Fraud French Horns stops abruptly, regroups, then starts on the wildly happier score of _Love Story._

"Maybe we should choose a solitaire diamond and then incorporate it into a setting of your choosing. The setting is really everything," Donald says. "Maybe a halo? A raised basket? Braids or knots?" Donald holds up examples. The last thing I need on her ring is braids or knots.

I look over everything and nothing is jumping out at me. Nothing is my Ana. I want it to be something she'll love. I want her to look down at her hand every day of her life and smile—and think of me.

"No all this is wrong," I say. "I don't want overly ostentatious, but I certainly don't want to puzzle piece it together. I want a completely original design. A round cut, simple five or six carats. Edging toward six." Yes, I do love edging. "Flawless stone. Platinum." I get in Donald's face. "It has to be the most perfect ring you've ever made."

"Of course, Mr. Grey."

"And I want a small pink diamond placed on the inside of the band. A hidden accent. Can you do that?"

"Yes, of course."

"Good." The clear diamond will be shown to the world, but the pink secret— representing the Bollinger, the color of her ass after a spanking, her blush, and the hue of sweethearts—will only be known by us.

"I need it in two weeks," I say. "And send sketches for my engagement planners and me to go over in no more than three days."

"Yes, Mr. Grey." Donald starts to step away.

"One more thing," I say and he stops and turns back. "I want a set of monogrammed notecards sent directly to my office. A C and an A wrapped around the big G in the middle."

He nods and takes off to draw up papers.

I look over at Taylor and shake my head as he takes another sip of bubbly. "Don't drink too much, in case you have to shoot someone for me."

* * *

"Oh, Mr. Grey, I'm beyond thrilled to be able to show you and your lovely fiancé your new house this evening," my realtor, Olga Kelly says as I speak to her on the phone in the back of the SUV. So I exaggerated the fiancé part. I'm just overly excited after being on the top floor at Cartier looking at rings and ordering stationery.

"Good, we'll be by just before sunset," I say. "Bake some cookies."

"Cookies?" Olga asks.

"I want the place to smell like home the moment she walks in. It's either that or a pie with heavy autumnal seasonings, but that's awkward in June." How does she not know these realtor tricks? "Oh, and a minor detail. Don't tell her she owns it."

"What?"

"We're just touring it tonight."

"But, how shall I present it?"

"I'll handle it. Just make sure the windows and drapes and French doors are wide open in the master suite. I want that billowing effect as soon as she sees the view."

"Yes, Mr. Grey. Cookies, open windows and billowing drapes."

"But, don't open the windows near the cookies or the home baked aromas will dissipate."

"Of course." She thinks I'm crazy. I don't fucking care. As long as I get cookies and open windows for my Ana.

"See you tonight." I hang up. I can't wait to see Ana's face when she takes in the colors over the sound from the balcony of what will be our bedroom.

The _ding_ on my BlackBerry interrupts my daydreaming. I look to find it's an email from the girl I've been daydreaming about. My dreams are real now.

_**From: Anastasia Steele**_

_**Subject: Megalomaniac…**_

_**Date: June 16 2011 15:43**_

_**To: Christian Grey**_

_**…is my favorite type of maniac. Thank you for the beautiful flowers. They've arrived in a huge wicker basket that makes me think of picnics and blankets.**_

_**X**_

Good, she got the flowers to congratulate her on her promotion. I told Armando to get blooms one might find in a meadow. She has no idea that it's actually a clue as to what's to come tonight.

**_From: Christian Grey_**

**_Subject: Fresh Air_**

**_Date: June 16 2011 15:55_**

**_To: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Maniac, eh? Dr. Flynn may have something to say about that._**

**_You want to go on a picnic?_**

**_We could have fun in the great outdoors, Anastasia…_**

**_How is your day going, baby?_**

**_Christian Grey_**

**_CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. _**

She's quick with a response.

**_"From: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Subject: Hectic_**

**_Date: June 16 2011 16:00_**

**_To: Christian Grey_**

**_The day has flown by. I have hardly had a moment to myself to think about anything other than work. I think I can do this! I'll tell you more when I'm home. Outdoors sounds…interesting._**

**_Love you._**

**_A x_**

**_PS: Don't worry about Dr. Flynn._**

She's excited about her job. I like her this happy. I know what it is to get the first real taste of work you love and to thrive at it. Roach can go fuck himself if he has other ideas.

_Not to worry about Flynn... _Aside from the excitement from engagement planning, it's been eating me up all day. Flynn could tell her to say no. Warn her of the monster. And deep down I know that he should.

But, the monster I am doesn't want her to go.

**_From: Christian Grey_**

**_Subject: I'll try…_**

**_Date: June 16 2011 16:09_**

**_To: Anastasia Steele"_**

**_…not to worry._**

**_Laters, baby. x_**

**_Christian Grey_**

**_CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._**

My phone buzzes. My baby misses me… I look at the caller ID. No, it's just Welch.

"What is it?" I answer.

"Meredith is working for Lincoln."

"You're fucking kidding me."

"No. They're definitely in cahoots."

"I knew it."

"But, it's not in the way you're thinking. Or, at least I don't have evidence of that now. Seems to me Elena is trying to hook up some sort of Med Spa at the salon in Capital Hill, then expand to the others. Meredith is the liaison between Esclava and the dermatologist she works for."

"I'm an owner in those salons. Why haven't I been informed of this?" Of course she'd choose Capital Hill to start, I never go there.

"Not my monkeys. Not my circus." Why the fuck does he always say that?

"How long has this been going on?"

"Only a few weeks, from what I can gather. But, they spend a lot of time together. On surveillance, they leave together almost every night Meredith works."

"She works at night?"

"Merry works for the doctor in the day. Only chance."

"What is she working on at night like that at a salon?"

"I think reorganizing, setting up a new section of the shop upstairs. They've got some minor construction going on."

"Construction? She can't build shit without my approval. What is she planning here?"

"It looks like it's gonna be Botox and injections, facials where they peel half your flesh off and shit. They just need a license. They're waiting on it, but trust me, they're not fully waiting."

"What does that mean?"

"Let me just say, a few clients entered as girls and left as ducks."

"So, you're saying they've actually started up this off-shoot without my knowledge?"

"Yeah. But, I still don't have any link to Leila Williams. I'm more concerned they're trying to snake you out of profits."

"I want you to get me the financials for this venture. Everything."

"Already working on it."

"Good." I hang up.

A Med Spa? It does sound like something Elena would do. But, why is she keeping it secret? Maybe I'm reading too much into all of this... No, I'm not. In the past, Elena would've told me all her grand ideas. She'd want more funding for expansion, that's for sure. She wouldn't forge out on her own. That's not her way. She's hiding something. I hope to God it's just that she wants to cheat me out of extra money. But, the place in me that always sensed when the whip was about to crack is screaming to get my attention.

As I near Escala, my phone buzzes. Another text from Elena: _I've been calling all day. Where are you?_

I delete the message, but it's followed by quickly by another: _Is this her doing? _

I again press delete. And then, almost compulsively, I keep deleting every text she's ever sent me, until all her words are erased from my life.

* * *

I stand in front of the vanity mirror in our bedroom at Escala, taking in my reflection. I've changed four times since my workout with Claude and subsequent shower—the shower was so hard, as I was so hard in the shower—waiting for Anastasia to arrive home so we can go see Flynn. I tried on a charcoal suit—the kind you get married in, but figured that was too bizarre and might get me sent away to Leila Land; a t-shirt and jeans, but that was too casual; a vest that Mia bought me that I thought would make me appear liberated and sensitive, but just made me look like an asshole that teaches arts and crafts at the parks and rec center on rainy days.

Now I stand only in a t-shirt and boxer briefs, at a loss. I need to look like husband material for this session with Flynn tonight and the introduction of the house after. I need to look like the man I never thought I could be. But, all I am right now is a man standing before a dressing mirror in his underwear.

Wait! I have an idea.

I pull a chair from the bedroom into the closet and position it step ladder style to help me get to the far reaches of my top shelf. Everything happens up top today. Though I brush against the satin of Ana's negligee and smell her perfume still a memory in the air, I ignore my throbbing dick and forge ahead.

After much digging, I find the box with a hand-tied gold bow and pull it down. Sitting on the chair, I unwrap the package to find a brown knotted wool cardigan sweater my grandmother gave me two Christmases ago. I hated it then, but wouldn't part with it. The card is still in the box: _Christian, so you don't get cold. Grammy xo_

I never thought I would ever wear this thing. But tonight, I can't shrug it on fast enough over a linen shirt and a pair jeans. The leather elbow patches really add something to the ensemble. Like I'm really digging my elbows in, so I better have reinforcements. it screams 'the long haul'. I look in the mirror again. Now, I look like husband material. In fact, I look exactly like my dad.

"Oh Mr. Grey, you look so handsome!" Gail says, with a trio of fingers held to her open-mouthed gasp, as I pass her in the great room.

"You like it?" I straighten the collar and hem. Hell, the buttons on this thing are astronomical. Like they were made for old men who couldn't see how to dress themselves. Of course, they probably were.

"Very distinguished, sir." She smiles. "I've never seen you in such a sweater before."

"Yeah well, fashion. It changes."

She's trying to stifle a smile. "Well, it's very smart. Sophisticated."

"Responsible?"

"Well, yes. I'd say it is."

"So, be honest with me Gail. Could you see a man wearing this in a home?"

"Well, my grandfather wore one when they put him there, but that doesn't mean a young strapping man like yourself can't enjoy a comfortable sweater."

"No, not a nursing home! Like a home. A home home. A house. One with a white fence, and a yard, and a family room out in suburbia."

"A family room?" Her eyes grow as wide as her quite evident delight. Oh hell, don't get ahead of yourself, Mrs. Jones.

"That's just what they call it, but it's really a glorified den where a lot of people can sit."

"Well, I can definitely see the man standing before me in a place like that." She smiles so sweet, and a bit misty. It's sort of making me self conscious.

The elevator dings and the doors part.

"Taylor," I say as he enters the room. "Do you have word on Miss Steele's whereabouts?"

"She's driving home, sir. In the Saab." Like a knife to my heart.

"Do you have coordinates?" I ask.

He pulls out his phone and references the the navigation. "4th and Pike."

"She's still that far away? Is she in heavy traffic?" My gut seizes up in panic thinking of all the threats she's facing.

"She stopped for gas, sir."

I give Taylor a long, hard look. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Sawyer pumped for her, sir."

"Are you really trying to fucking kill me?!" I point a finger at him. "Never say those words again."

"Yes, sir. She should be here shortly." He takes a good look at me. "Thick wool is nice on you, Mr. Grey."

"Thank you." I think. "Keep an eye on the map."

"Yes, Mr. Grey."

I'm sweating. Profusely. Not just from panic, but from actual boiling over heat. I pull out a handkerchief and dab my forehead. My grandmother was right when she said I'd never get cold in this thing. I may end up losing ten pounds.

My phone buzzes. It's Ros.

"What?" I answer abruptly. I have a terrible thought. I hope Ana isn't listening to music right now.

"Well, hello to you, too."

"I'm sorry, I have a lot going on." Music with big beats and whistles to distract…

"Oh yes, tell your girlfriend hi."

"What is it? I can't talk forever." Shit, I hope she didn't turn on the ass warmers again. She could burn herself in the thin fabric of that skirt, jump, and cause a twelve car pileup.

"According to my call timer, it's been thirty-seven seconds."

"Get to the point!" Ros is distracting me. I need to free my head up for proper worry.

"The meeting tomorrow in Portland. Word is, they're going to agree to most of our terms. They need us to work out a few glitches on our end. Especially with the solar paneling."

"That's great news. Tell Barney."

"I will. Do you want to get a head start with us tonight?"

"No, I have plans. You can handle it. I trust you."

"That must be some magic pussy you're getting, Grey!" She laughs.

"What?" I don't even like lesbians thinking about Ana downstairs.

"Because, before this month, the last time you trusted me to handle something alone was never."

"Oh please."

"You may be a likable guy, yet."

"Don't let it get out. I have street credit to uphold."

She laughs and we hang up. I guess I missed the ding of the elevator, because when I turn, I'm met with the most beautiful sight I've ever seen.

"Good evening, Miss Steele," I say as I make my way to her. "Or should I say Madame Editor?" I pull her into my arms and give her a soft kiss. "We'll have to celebrate later."

"Thank you." She blushes. "But, it's just acting editor."

"Hey, that's a big deal. And still definitely cause for a celebration. I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you."

"Not yet twenty-two and shooting to the top. Reminds me of someone I know." I smirk and she giggles into my shoulder.

"Your sweater!" she says as she lifts her face to have a look at me.

"Do you hate it?" I hold my breath.

"No, it's so cozy."

"It's wool."

"It isn't too hot for summer?" she asks as sweat drips from my pecks. Luckily it's hidden by all the paneling and the big buttons.

"There's a chill in the air," I say. "It's nipped me all day."

"My dad had a sweater like this," she says as she fingers the lapels, a bit wistful. "I like the patches." She strokes my elbows.

I'm like her dad. She loves her dad. But wait, does she want to marry him?

"We again have something in common. We love the same girl and the same yarn."

"Stop!" She laughs. "I loved it. His sweater." She squeezes her arms around me and snuggles into my chest. "When I was sad or unsure or just needed a hug, it made me feel comforted and safe and warm."

I tighten my wrap around her and we stand there holding each other for a long moment. Cozy, comforting. And suddenly the note my grandmother wrote to me comes back to mind. _So you'll never get cold… _Maybe it wasn't about the weather.

"Did you shower?" she asks as she sniffs my neck. She's pouting. Why is she pouting? Did she want to soap up together? I'm getting hard.

"Yeah, I had a session with Claude. Knocked him on his ass twice."

"Doesn't happen often?"

"No. Very satisfying when it does. Hungry?" I kiss her on her brow. God, I wish we had time to scrub-a-dub-dub-fuck.

"No," she says, shaking her head. She looks off, preoccupied by something.

"What's wrong?" I ask as I head to the bar to pour us each a half glass of wine.

"I'm just… you know, nervous about Dr. Flynn." She looks out the windows as a streak of sun pierces through a tuck of cloud and lights her hair. The sun always seems to find her.

"Me, too," I say, and hand her a glass of Pinot Grigio. She keeps looking out the windows as she sips and I snug up behind her. "Give me the answer and we won't have to go." I kiss her hair and bury my nose into it.

"I need this," she says, turning in my arms.

"I know." I look out the windows now and run my fingers through my still damp mop. "Tell me about your day."

"It was so great!" she says, and her whole being lights up. "They asked my opinions on all these manuscripts. And they listened. I've read them all. I really felt I made headway at the editors meeting."

"I'm sure you did!"

"I really think they're going to take a chance on the author I found. Boyce Fox."

"Well, listen, if you think it's a good read then it is. It'll top the charts. Stick to your guns."

"There's one more thing…" She knots her fingers together. She's apprehensive. Fuck, why?

"About the new author?" I ask. He's a stud whore, I knew it! Anyone with the name Boyce Fox is an automatic sexual predator.

"No, it's not about Boyce." She shakes her head. I'll let it go that they're on a first name basis already. "Mia called today. We were supposed to go to the mall."

"You were?" That's her news? Why is she apprehensive about that?

"I totally forgot. I was busy. I couldn't go."

"Oh. Don't worry about it. Mia doesn't have a job. Actually, that is her job. Plus, don't ever go to a mall." The security concerns would give me a coronary.

"Well, I did feel bad. She wanted to talk about your birthday, but you gifts…" I roll my eyes and take a sip. "And then Ethan came by…"

"Ethan? Kavanagh Ethan?" I ask and she nods. Surfer Curls! "Why?"

"Well, we hadn't talked since the other night. He was in the neighborhood and wanted to check on me, see if I was free for lunch, which of course I wasn't. I was so busy!"

"He wasn't in the neighborhood!"

"Christian, he has a lot of school business around there."

"It's summer!"

"He's getting ready."

"I'm sure."

"Christian—"

"He was "in the neighborhood" as much as I was "in the neighborhood" when I stopped into that hardware store."

She sighs and looks like she's counting to ten in her mind. Calming herself down before she attacks. "The point is I was too busy. I didn't go."

"Good. Well, what are you getting at?" Why the fuck didn't Sawyer report this too me? Too busy having gas pumping fantasies.

"I had Ethan take Mia out to lunch."

"Wait, what? Like food and table with my sister... together?"

"Yeah, that's generally the idea. Lunch. And I think they had a good time."

"Why would you say this?"

"They both texted me to thank me for setting it up." Oh my God, the disease of Kavanagh continues to invade my family. It's like Kancer.

"I am not happy about this."

"Don't be grouchy." She leans up and places feather-like kisses on my face.

"I'm not grouchy." The kisses feel so nice.

Ana pulls away, leaving me sadly feather kiss-less.

"It's good they met," she says. "You can never have too many friends."

"Yes, you can. You can absolutely have too many friends!" I can think of the few Ana could shave off.

She gives me a quick kiss. "I'm going to freshen up."

"Ana!" She doesn't listen to me as she heads off to the bedroom.

I take out my phone and text my sister: _I hear you had lunch._ The period at the end means the business.

She texts back quickly: _Breakfast, too!;)_

_Hilarious._

_The Linguine and clams were Delish! xx_

It's worse than I thought. She had a plate full of vagina symbolism with that boy.

She texts again: _I invited him to your party this weekend._

_What? Why?_

_His sister is going._

_I don't go to your parties._

_You don't go to any parties;)_

Fuck. They better not fuck. I can't believe Ana did this! I'm fuming. And dripping with sweat. I rush to the freezer, unbutton my sweater and open the door to get some relief from all this wool.

"Christian!" Ana calls out. "I need you to unzip my dress."

And like a homing device, my dick forgives and leads me directly to her zipper.

* * *

"This was fast," she says as we pull up curbside in front of Flynn's office in the Saab. Thankfully, she let me drive because I knew the way. I neglected to tell her the way was straight up the street.

"Yes, I usually jog here from Escala." I turn off the ignition in the middle. "This is a great car."

"I think so, too." She smiles.

I lean over the center console and softly place my lips on hers. She's apprehensive again. I can feel it in her kiss. "What?" I murmur against her lips, then pull back. "Anastasia, what is it?"

She twists her mouth, and I can tell she wants to tell me something important, but she's stopping herself. But, why? Fuck, it's destroying me inside.

"Ana, please, if something is wrong, tell me."

"It's not that," she says, shaking her head. Her eyes begin to well up. She's crying. Why is she crying? And she hasn't even spoken to Flynn yet. I'm doomed.

"Ana, baby…"

I think she's going to say something, but instead she reaches into her purse and pulls out a small wrapped box. The bow reminds me of the one my grandmother wrapped my sweater up with, but much smaller. Like hamster sweater size, if they wore such things.

"What is this?" I ask as she hands it to me. Her fingers are trembling. I'm a little rattled myself as I'm completely unsure about what's going on here.

"It's your birthday present," she says as she sniffs her nose and wipes her eyes.

"My birthday?" I ask, furrowing my brow.

She nods. "But, you can't open it until Saturday."

"Then, why give it to me now?"

"Because I can, Mr. Grey."

"You stole my line." I grin.

She laughs. And then she gets a bit teary again. I catch the droplet just spilled from her lashes with my fingertip. She watches me for a long moment, our eyes not losing each other's no matter the scattered noise from outside or the threat of time. She then smiles. Like she's delighted with her secret in this box.

"What is it, Anastasia?"

"I just wanted to remember this moment forever."

I brush a piece of hair behind her ear. "You mean the moment we were stuck in your car, in front of my psychiatrist's office and you gave me a birthday gift two days early?" I smirk.

"Yes, Mr. Grey. That's exactly the moment I want to remember." She leans over and kisses me deeply. Tongues and lips and breath. When she pulls away, she brushes my face. "Now that you have your gift, we can go inside."

I tuck the box into the pocket of my husband sweater. It's light and settles in the wool like it belongs there. And all the way up to Flynn's office door, my fingers intertwined with hers, I wonder what she could've gotten me that would fit into a box so small.


	53. Chapter 53

**_Thank you for everything—all the reviews, comments, favs! _**

**_Someone asked me what my thoughts were when writing Christian's zany situations and antics. My mantra is always this: think of the thing you could never see Christian doing and absolutely see Christian doing all at once. _**

**_And for all those who ask, yes I plan to do Freed. _**

**_Thank you for your patience! Enjoy! xox_**

#######

I'm eating butter mints out of the gut of a ceramic origami swan. The chalky pastel assortment grandmothers always have on a far table, setting on an umber-edged doily. You go in with the hope of a long minty suck, but instead the little pillowy fuckers completely dissolve the second they hit your tastebuds. They're the blue balls of fresh breath. I hate these disgusting things, but today, sitting in Flynn's waiting room with Ana, I just can't stop popping them.

"Christian, don't be nervous," Ana says, steadying the knee I hadn't realized I was shaking with her hand.

"I'm not." I pop another. Pink this time. Why do I keep expecting different colors to yield different flavor results? Maybe that's why Flynn puts them out here. They're the ingestible representation of insanity.

Between the heat emanating from beneath the wool of my sweater and the bullshit chill coming from the mints in my mouth, I feel like my body is the battleground for civil war—North and South Pole.

"You've nearly eaten the entire dish." She motions toward the rainbow dust now on the bottom of the swan belly. Flynn would have you believe he got this dish straight from an epic journey to Asia. I can see through the dust—Cost Plus.

"I'm just... hungry," I say. I put the lid on the back of the bird, giving it wings again, and then push it away.

"Please don't leave me if Flynn tells you I'm a psychopath," I blurt.

"I won't. Because, I already know that." She giggles. She thinks I'm kidding. She hasn't seen my file.

We've been waiting out here in the dead lobby—well, mostly dead, save for half-dead Eunice, his receptionist—for an extraordinarily long amount of time. Seven minutes and thirty-four seconds to be exact. I've set a timer.

He's doing this on purpose. To test me. But, I'm not falling for the tricks in his "are you really ready to be a husband" obstacle course. He's expecting me to burst in there and demand my way. To prove that I have no calm or good temper. That I'm not ready to compromise or coexist with any human being other than Taylor, who barely is one. But, I'll show Flynn. I'm going to have so many fucking manners they'll put a mister in front of the word and hand me an advice column.

"I think she likes you," Ana whispers and giggles, nodding to old Eunice who has her face pressed to the frosted dividing glass. Oh wait, maybe that frosting is her lipstick.

"No, she just thinks I'm Bill Gates," I whisper back and Ana laughs.

Finally, the door flings open and out pops Flynn's head, like Whack-a-Mole. "I'm so sorry to keep you waiting." Yeah right. Oh how I wish I had that old Chuck E. Cheese club for a good smackdown.

"No trouble," I say with my best blue packet sweetener smile as I help Ana up from her seat. "We're so happy spending time with each other, we couldn't care less when or if we'd see you."

Ana shoots me a look. "Uh, what he means is, it's no trouble." The look's still shooting.

"Don't worry," Flynn says, tilting his head back in a haughty chuckle. "I know what he means. I always know."

What's that supposed to mean?

"John, you remember Anastasia from the ball," I say, facilitating the re-introduction.

"Of course. The lovely lady in silver." He extends his hand and she takes it. I monitor finger touching and lingering. It's awfully touching and lingering, but from the way he keeps cutting his eyes back to me, I know he's doing this on purpose, too. The old temper test. I clench my jaw and turn to Ana, trying to ignore his obnoxious baiting.

"Anastasia, you may not recognize John with his face out," I say, though it's more of a spit.

"Oh, sure I do. Wonderful dancer." She smiles and I don't fucking care if I'm biting his little worm on the hook, this hand holding has gone on far long enough. I manually take her fingers from his paw and intertwine them with mine.

"Well then, shall we go inside?" Flynn asks, motioning toward his office door. I think he had a blow dry on his hair today. It's high and fanned back, and extra crispy. He's wearing a painted on robin's egg blue button-up with flared cuffs. Why are his sleeves so tight and metrosexual?

"It's a lovely office," Ana says, looking around the place.

"Thank you, I like it," Flynn says. "I travel extensively, so there are artifacts from all over."

"Yes, we saw the swan in your waiting room," I say and roll my eyes.

I lead Ana past the frayed-arm leather sofa—of which 90% of those frays I'm responsible for— and to the indeterminable animal print love seat. That Buddha is watching from the mantle. Fucker is still laughing at me. I flip him off in my mind. And then I realize I'm having an imaginary argument with a gold plated religious figurine in the office of my psychiatrist.

Maybe I really am insane.

"I don't think we can both fit," Ana says as we try to adjust our assets on the cushion.

"It's good, just sit a pinch to the right, baby," I say, and shit, my ass is pinched all the way to the right. And so are my testicles. We twist, we turn, and she ends up halfway on top of me on more than one attempt, but somehow we end up sitting side-by-side, like sardines in a roll back tin can.

Flynn's watching all this intently.

"We're fine now," I say. "The love seat is fantastic."

"That's not a love seat," he says, in his calm, collected, 'I have so much of my shit together I don't smell it anymore' voice.

"Oh really, then what do you call a thing with a back, two arms and a cushion?" I ask.

"A chair."

"A chair?"

"A chair."

"But, it fits two asses!" I say.

"Well, at least one," he says with an excessively pleased with himself belly laugh. He looks like the Buddha. Fuckers, both of them!

"Perhaps Anastasia would be more comfortable with some space," Flynn says.

"Yes, I think I could speak more freely if I could... breathe," she says.

"Of course, baby. I love it when you breathe freely. You know that."

I lift and then shimmy to let her up, catching a few breaths of my own, then immediately follow her to the sofa. Though I usually hug to the arm at the edge that supplies the leather for my nerves to pick at, tonight I pull her in tight to me in the middle. I want to be close to her, so I don't care that I'm falling into the space between the cushions. Metaphorically, I've been doing some degree of that my whole life.

"Now then," Flynn says as he readies a notepad and pen. "Shall we begin?"

We both nod with mixed degrees of trepidation.

Fuck, my file is on his desk. Why does he always prop it there? To loom over me as a reminder of how far gone I really am? It's so thick and stuffed, it looks like it belongs to the family Manson.

I shoot a look over to see if Ana has noticed, but I don't think she has. She's playing with her fingers like she does when she's nervous. I lean over, take her hand and kiss the back of it.

"I'm the one that was eating the mints, remember," I whisper into her ear and she giggles, relaxing a bit and curling in closer to me. "I love you, baby."

"I love you, too," she says and I kiss her forehead.

Flynn's watching this like he's witnessing the evolution of monkey to man.

"What?" I ask him.

"Did the weather change?" he asks.

"The weather?" What the hell?

"I couldn't help but notice you're wearing a new sweater," he says. "A style I'd never imagine you in, Christian." He lifts a bush of a brow. "I mean, especially not in the swell of summer weather." Swell of summer weather? Can't he just say it's hot?

"Well, you know, when you're responsibly spending time at home with the one you love in your shared residence, instead of racing around town looking for cheap thrills that don't mean anything in life, you get a bit drafty," I say.

Ana and Flynn are staring at me like a new lamb is sprouting out of my sweater wool. I pull at the collar and feel a gush. No wonder it's called a sweater. Can you sweat so much that you actually flood down into your underwear?

"That's right," Flynn says, crossing a leg, getting comfortable with my discomfort. "Christian mentioned you two are cohabitating now. Congratulations. How do you feel about that Anastasia?"

"Good. Except..." Ana twists and shifts, dipping her head.

I immediately tense. Yes, you can sweat so much you flood down into your underwear.

"What is it, Anastasia?" he asks, pen prepped. "What has you concerned?"

"Well..." she says as I hold my breath. "I wish he'd let me pay half the rent."

I exhale. Is she serious?

"There's no rent," I say, and if there was it would be thrice her life savings. "Ana, it's already bought. What's mine is yours now."

"But, that's not fair. You've worked so hard to have what you have. I've just stepped into your life. I should at least participate."

"Trust me, you participate with me all the time."

"Christian!" She gapes at me, darting her eyes to Flynn with flushed cheeks.

"Not that kind of participation..." I say to her, but then I look to Flynn. "Although, that's stellar. No issues. Write that down."

Well, he writes something down, anyway.

I turn back to Ana and stroke her knuckles with my thumb. "It's not yours or mine, it's our life now. And yes, I've worked hard, but that means I should be able to spend the fruits of my labor how I please. And spending my fruits on you is what pleases me."

"I just don't want to feel as if I'm freeloading."

"That's the last thing you're doing. I want you there. And I don't want you paying me back for that privilege." I tuck her hair behind her ear. "You do far more for me by waking up with me every morning than any bullshit therapy I've ever had." I look to Flynn. "No offense. I mean, kinda."

"Definitely none taken," he says and he's grinning as he scribbles more notes. Maybe he's just drawing stick figure pictures, who knows.

"Do you think it's fair?" she asks Flynn.

"If Christian doesn't have a problem with it, then I don't see it being unfair to him. That shouldn't be the concern. The concern should be how uncomfortable it makes you feel and how we can lessen that burden."

Burden? Who's uncomfortable living for free in a multi-million dollar penthouse with servants and a closet full of brand new designer clothes? My Ana. And something about that fact does make me smile.

"What about utilities or something?" she asks. "I could pay the electric bill."

"No! No way! Do you want to emasculate me completely?"

"Why do you consider that emasculation, Christian?" Flynn asks, leaning back in his chair and stroking his chin. He does that so much it's starting to form a point.

"It's not because she's a woman," I say. "I just don't feel comfortable with anyone... you know..."

"Funding your electricity?" he asks.

"Exactly," I say. "I'm quite prideful when it comes to my lights."

"Christian, please," Ana says. "I want to feel like the place is mine, too. Like we're in it together."

Like the place is hers... In it together...

"Wait, you're saying you'd feel like the place is yours if you paid a utility bill?" I ask and she nods.

"Yes, that is if you wanted me to feel it is..."

"Oh Ana, I do! Do you?"

"I do," she says and I reach over and brush the pad of my thumb over her lips. God, I love those two beautiful words on her breath.

"Fine," I say, struggling a bit, but conceding for the 'I do.' "You can pay the water bill." It's cheaper and less emasculating than electrical currents powering up my devices, and plus there's something sexy about her supplying bath time.

"Okay, the water." She grins.

"And maybe a Netflix subscription." I've heard about this Netflix and chill rumor. I want to check it out.

"Okay, deal." She gives me a quick kiss. I can't stop smiling as I stare into her happy-with-me eyes. For years, all I wanted was a woman who wanted to please me. And now, all I want is to please her.

Flynn is taking vigorous notes as he watches our interaction. Take that, buddy. Compromise.

"Anastasia," Flynn says as I knot up her hand in mine. "Christian asked to bring you to one of our sessions... We may talk about some more personal things going forward. I hope you know everything is strictly confidential."

"Oh I know." She holds up her free hand. "I signed an NDA."

"Really?" Flynn gives me the old side eye. He still manages to do this while facing me straight on.

"A nondisclosure agreement." He taps his pen to his chin as he watches me. "You start all your relationships with women with an NDA?"

He knows this. What the fuck is he playing at? Is this a trick question?

"The contractual ones, yes," I say hesitantly as I squeeze Ana's hand, holding onto her for dear life.

"You've had other sorts of relationships with women?" What the hell is he doing? I'm about to let him have it, but then his lips start to twitch up into a smile and I can see he's teasing me.

"No, never." I say and then look to Ana. "Until now."

Ana gently places her free hand on the side of my chest and smiles up at me. I don't flinch. I just close my eyes for a moment and bask in what it feels like to be a man touched by a woman.

When I open them again, Flynn's staring at Ana's fingertips that are now lightly playing with the button edges of my sweater.

On another note, I never knew how fucking turned on I could get by the idea of her playing with my matrimony wool.

"Well then..." He clears his throat. "I suppose we don't have to worry about confidentiality."

"No, not at all," I say. "Be as non-confidential as possible. I have no secrets from her."

"Good," he says. "Now then, I would advise you to have a discussion about that NDA you signed, Anastasia. Since it appears neither of you want a contractual relationship anymore."

"Different kind of contract, hopefully." I stroke her bare wedding ring finger and glance over. She smiles sweetly up at me, but she's still not giving anything away in regards to an answer for me.

"Marriage?" Flynn asks, the question weighted.

"Yes," I say, playing with Ana's fingers.

He watches me, then looks back to her.

"Anastasia—" Flynn says.

"Ana," she interrupts.

"Anastasia," I correct.

"Ana," he says and gives me a fuck off look—well, he's British, so it's more polite. "I'm afraid I know more about you than you realize..."

What the fuck kind of creepy statement is that? I can feel Ana tense next to me.

"Christian has been quite forthcoming in our sessions," he continues.

"Oh," she says. She glances over, with a bit of a frown. Oh great, now she thinks I'm talking about her to my psychiatrist.

Wait, didn't she know that?

I'm so confused.

"An NDA," Flynn says. "That must've shocked you." Why does he sound like he's hosting one of those news programs that solve a mystery in an hour and the husband always ends up in an orange jumpsuit at the end?

"Oh, the shock of that was minor compared to recent revelations," she says.

Damn, here we go. Floodgates. Open.

I continue to stroke her knuckles.

"I'm sure," Flynn says, then turns back to me. "What do you want to talk about, Christian?"

"Me?" Is he crazy?

"You called the session. This is your slot. How would you like this session to proceed?"

"As we've established, I've proposed marriage and Ana has some things she wants to ask." I give him a pointed look. "So, you can ask her."

"Her session?" he asks.

"Hers," I say. "Completely hers."

A small smile, like one of a grasshopper after an exceptional leap, forms on his face and he turns to her.

"Ana," he says. "Where would you like to begin?"

"Well, I... I'm not sure," she says, her voice soft and hesitant. She looks between Flynn and me. In assurance, I squeeze her hand.

"Would you feel more comfortable talking if Christian wasn't in the room?" Flynn asks.

What?!

My eyes shoot up to his, but he doesn't react, he keeps focus on Ana.

"Yes, maybe..." Ana squeaks.

I'm being kicked out after a few minutes?! I had a whole speech prepared. Bullet points. An argument of defense. How can I make sure he says the right things if I'm not in the room to beat his face in if he doesn't?

No, no way! He can't kick me out now.

"Flynn—" I say in protest.

"I think it's up to Ana," he says.

"Ana, I'm going to stay—" I say, but she looks up at me with her blue eyes, nervous and somewhat pleading with me to go. I could very well sit here, insist on it. Put on my best CEO bravado and force my way. But it's been well established, I'm not a good boss around Ana. "I'm going to stay outside."

She smiles at me, and after a final squeeze of her fingers, I get up and open the door to leave.

"But, I'll be close outside!" I say, shooting a look to Flynn just before walking out.

"All the way, Christian," Flynn calls out, noticing I've purposely left the door open a crack to listen. I comply. But, there is no good humor in my exit.

I sit in my seat in front of the door again and stare at it. It's been many years since I've faced a closed door. And something about it reminds me of sitting in that closet at four and waiting for him to either leave or turn the knob.

"I wouldn't spend a damn penny on an iPhone if I had ten," a high-pitched voice sounds from behind me, rather fired up about it.

I turn to look. It's Eunice from behind the glass. Yep, she definitely thinks I'm Bill Gates.

I can't sit anymore, so I start to pace. I've learned in life that sometimes walking is all you can do.

I can only imagine what they're talking about—and my imagination has never been my friend. I told him to speak freely, that confidentiality was of no concern. But, that's because I thought, if he got out of line, I'd still be in the room to harpoon him with my glares. I have no secrets from her, but there are far too many stories. Shit, he could tell her specifics about the submissives, about Elena, what a worthless piece of shit I really am...

He could tell her to say no.

I rushedly pull out my phone and call Taylor.

"Yes, sir?" he answers. Third ring. Lazy bastard. But, I'll let it go.

"How fast can you wire tap an office?"

"It depends, sir. How soon do you need it?"

"Five minutes. Or less."

The Swedish horse clock above tells me I have twenty-three minutes of session left. That's eighteen minutes of good material. He didn't go to Sweden. He probably got that thing from IKEA.

"I'd have to ask Welch," Taylor says. "What location, sir?"

"Flynn's office."

"He's a doctor. I think that would be highly illegal, Mr. Grey."

"Good. It'll make it exciting for you."

My other line rings. It's Olga, the realtor. I tell Taylor to hold and I switch over. Actually, I didn't tell him anything, I just switched and he fucking knows to wait.

"Meringue or raisin?" Olga asks.

What the hell?

"Excuse me?"

"What cookies do you want me to bake?"

"Not meringue or raisin." I shake my head. "No kid ever ran in the door from school following the scent of meringue or raisin." Does meringue even have a scent? Isn't it just burnt egg whites and sugar?

"Will there be children present today?"

"No. But, I want Miss Steele to walk in and immediately feel at home. Like it's Christmas or an easy Sunday. To picture that, many decades from now, littler family members might be running through that front door for her cookies. That this house has just been waiting there for her to find. And nothing worth finding smells like raisins or meringue."

"I'm sorry, I'm confused. I've never sold a home to someone who's already bought it before."

"Snickerdoodles, Ms. Kelly. Nothing says family like cinnamon and sugar and doodles snickering."

I switch back to Taylor.

"Welch says he can feed a microphone through a ceiling tile specific to that building, but he'll need a generous twenty minutes and roof access," Taylor says. He got all that info while I was talking cookies with Olga? I'll forgive him for three rings.

I'm pondering the possibility, when I hear Ana laugh. But, it's not her normal laugh through the door. It sounds farther away, other worldly. Like it's louder and slower than usual, and possibly underwater.

I look around and realize the amplified version of my fair love's mirth is coming from the open bathroom.

I can then hear some garbled version of high brow nonsense and immediately recognize it's Flynn. He too is laughing.

What the fuck are they laughing about?

"Forget it, Taylor. I'll call you back."

I hang up and walk toward the sound vibrations. I discover they're coming off the large exposed pipes in the bathroom. Flynn's having work done on them, evidenced by tools strewn about, random patchwork and water caught by a bucket on the floor beneath. Of course Flynn chose a warehouse renovated into an office building to house his practice, so this shit—literally–happens. He thinks it makes him hipster and cutting edge. Why the hell would exposed piping making you cutting edge? Why do things that used to look poor now make you look like you've made it?

But, at least the plumbing betrays their privacy today.

"I'm just going to use the little boys room here," I say to Eunice.

"That toilet has PMS," she calls out, I assume referencing all the repairs.

"I'll flush down an aspirin and a heating pad," I mutter.

I close the door and put my ear to the pipes. Everything is garbled and echoes. It's like sonar. Most of it is impossible to understand, but every now and again I can catch a word. A phrase. She just told Flynn something about demons and Flynn responded with something about demons.

Oh God, they're concurring I'm straight from hell.

"His what?" she asks, so high pitched and horrified it vibrates the pipe my ear is pressed against and nearly blasts out my drum. His reply is garbled, until he lands on two words I can clearly identify—sexual and sadism.

"Oh my God!" I say aloud. My heart is racing. My sweater drips.

"You have to jiggle it," Eunice says from outside the door.

"What?"

"The handle. For number two. It sticks."

"The handle sticks?"

"No, number two."

"Thank you, Eunice! Please give me privacy."

"Yes, Mr. Gates."

"...recovering alcoholic..." are the next words I hear Flynn say. "the worst... " after that. Ana says something to which he replies a version of, "as good as it gets..."

Oh my God. Flynn has me pegged as a satanic sexual sadist alcoholic. How could he say that? I only drink nice wine.

Fucking Charlatan!

I've had enough of this private session. I don't care about passing his husband tests, I need to make sure there's still a chance she'll be my wife!

I burst out of the bathroom and back into the office.

"Christian," Flynn says, perplexed.

"I think your time is up," I say through gritted teeth. I don't think he gets that that was a thinly veiled death threat.

"Nearly, yes. Please join us."

I don't take my eyes off of him as I sit back down next to Ana. I place my hand on her knee. She's mine, Flynn. You won't take her away from me.

I turn to Ana and she gives me a smile. She looks a little flustered, but she doesn't seem to completely hate me—yet.

"So, what is our verdict?" I ask. My knee bobbing up and down like a Halloween apple.

"Wonderful session with you both today. I think we should do this again soon." He stands and invites us to do the same.

Of course. More sessions! That's all this man knows to do—put me in his appointment book and rape my bank account.

"Did he answer your questions?" I ask Ana.

"Yes, I believe he did," she says, but doesn't look me in the eye. This makes me nervous.

While Ana gathers her things, I casually take Flynn aside.

"Well?" I ask in whisper. "Aren't you going to expand on your statement?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You were supposed to give us the no or go."

"Christian, Ana and I had a lovely, informative conversation. And I can tell you that, after witnessing you in here today, my opinion on you and your future has changed immeasurably."

Oh my God. How did I fuck it up that bad?

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He laughs. "I'll speak to you later. Enjoy the evening with the girl who now pays your water bill."

Ana rejoins me and takes my hand.

"Thank you, John," she says.

"The pleasure was all mine, Ana." He then looks over to me and smiles. "It was definitely all mine."

#######

"How was it?" I ask, jingling the key ring in my hand as I escort her back to the car.

"It was...good." She looks as if she's chewing and tasting that word—_good_. And she's not sure if she wants seconds.

"Good?"

"Good. Mr. Grey, I am under strict doctor's orders to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You'll see." She winks and I can see she's enjoying the private joke she seems to be sharing with my shrink.

"Get in the car," I say, a bit more biting than I intended, as I open the passenger side door. But, I can't help it. I don't like what I don't know.

Her phone buzzes. She pulls it out of her bag and looks down at the caller ID. Instead of getting inside the car, she moves up the sidewalk to take the call.

Who the fuck is calling her that she can't speak right in front of me in the car?

"Hi Jose," she says.

Of course! The photographer.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you back," she continues. Well, that's good. She's not returning his calls. "Is this about tomorrow?"

Tomorrow? Oh, that's right. We're having a slumber party with that idiot. Damn.

"Oh yeah, well, I'm not at the apartment anymore," she says to him. "I'm actually staying full-time with Christian now."

Yes! Take that, Rodriguez! Though, I wish she wouldn't walk on eggshells with him. Fuck his feelings. I wish she'd shout it from the rooftops and not care what anyone thinks. Especially a man-lizard who wants to suck her face off.

"Yes, it's serious," she says, then moves toward the back end of the car. I hope she's talking about our relationship and not my mental health diagnosis.

"He invited you to stay with us," she says. Invited him? There's a stretch. She steps one foot into the gutter and then kicks at some dirt. A metaphor for this conversation.

"Sure. You could pick me up from work..." Her eyes cut my way. I grit my teeth and stone my gaze, but my best stone is barely a pebble with her these days.

"Six o'clock," she says. "I'll text you the address...Great, see you then."

She hangs up and puts her phone back into her bag as she walks towards me.

"Rodriguez," I say through clenched teeth.

"He's very excited about coming over."

"I'm sure he is." Ana will be in pajamas somewhere under the same roof, possibly while he's eating his fruit loops or jacking off upstairs in his room, maybe even simultaneously. I better have Taylor get her ugly flannel footy ones.

I just thought of something. How am I going to have sex with Ana knowing Jose's on top of me?

"He wants to pick me up from work. Maybe get a drink..." She looks at me like she's expecting an explosion. "Kate and Elliot will be back, remember. Would you join us?"

Fuck! Of all days to go to Portland. I would cancel this trip in heartbeat, but it's too important. Ros would kill me if I made her go it alone.

"You don't think he'll try anything?" I ask, wincing in remembrance of that drunken attempted rape of her mouth.

"No!" She looks like she's about to roll her eyes, but she refrains. "I told him. He knows there's no chance. Ever."

"Good."

I'll be home by seven, so I guess I can stomach an hour of Ana with the photographer, my brother and Kavanagh at a public bar. I'll send security, of course. Lots of security.

"Ok." I sigh. "You have fun with your friends. I'll join you later in the evening."

She stares at me a moment. I thought she'd be celebrating.

"What?" I ask.

"I was expecting a fight."

"See, I can be reasonable."

"I'm noticing that." She smiles and gives me a swoon-worthy kiss on the cheek.

"Well, are you getting in?" I ask, still holding the door open for her.

"I can drive."

"Uh... I'd rather you didn't." Memories of this morning flash through my head.

"Why not?"

"I don't like to be driven."

"You let Taylor drive you everywhere."

"I trust Taylor's driving implicitly."

"Oh really?" She raises a brow.

"I mean...he's a professional. He's been to war and driven tanks around bodies and explosives."

"You know I've been driving since I was fifteen."

"He's been driving around bodies and explosives since then, too. And fifteen for him was much longer ago."

She folds her arms and taps her foot.

"Is this my car?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Alright then." She holds her palm open for the keys.

"But you don't know where we're going." Just what I need, her lost or stopped by a cop with a speeding ticket, and we miss out on cookies and sunset.

"You can tell me."

"Ana, I won't allow this."

She raises a brow and stretches her palm wider.

#######

"Take a left," I say, directing her onto the I-5 from my seat on the passenger side. "Hell, gently!" I grab onto the dashboard. Though I'm clinging on for my life, I am impressed by what the Swedes have done with wood grain.

"A little dramatic don't you think?" She rolls those beautiful, challenging eyes.

"Yes, that turn was!"

"You drove with me this morning, why are you still scared?"

"Because I drove with you this morning!"

She turns on the radio, purposely louder than I'd decree safe. Van Morrison blasts. I've never hated that brown eyed girl so much.

"I said no music!"

"I believe you did, Mr. Grey." She turns it up.

"What are you doing?"

"Driving my car. The way I drive my car."

She's awfully moody all of a sudden. I watch her for a moment. Something's eating her and unfortunately it's not me.

"What did Flynn say?"

"I told you. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt."

What the fuck does that even mean? Why does she keep saying that?

"Ana, slow down!" I see life flash before my eyes. Not my actual life, the cereal brand on a billboard. But, it was close!

"Fine!" she says and turns on her right blinker.

"What are you doing?" I ask as she races against a Mini Cooper to change lanes.

"Letting you drive."

"What? No! Why?"

"So I can look at you."

What the hell?

"No—no! You wanted to drive. I'll look at you."

She turns and scowls at me.

"How about you look at the road!" I say.

She starts to switch lanes again. This time slowing and veering behind a pickup truck.

"What are you doing?" I ask as we run out of drivable lanes.

"Pulling over."

"You can't pull over on the I-5!"

She pulls over on the I-5!

"You can't park here!" I say as she parks here.

Maybe I should tell her she can't behave and she'll do that.

She turns off the car in a huff, gets out and then slams the door.

"Ana!" I immediately get out and follow her. "Didn't you hear me? You can't park here!"

"Don't you think I know that?"

"No!" I run a hand through my hair. "Then, why are you doing it?"

"It's either listen to you bark out orders about my driving or this."

"Bark out orders?"

"That's all you do. Like this morning? You don't trust my driving. You trust Taylor. You must think I'm stupid or something."

"No, of course not! That's not it!"

I can hardly concentrate with traffic whizzing by.

"Then what is it?"

"It's because you're a daredevil!"

"Because I listen to music?"

"Don't you see, Ana? It isn't just the music or the speeding—"

"I wasn't speeding!"

"Don't make me have Taylor acquire radar," I say. She shakes her head, but then snorts a laugh. "Everything you do scares me. I've been a man who has built a life on not fearing anything. And you! You terrify me. Every step you take away from me... Every damn thing you do nearly kills me."

A car clips by me so quickly it proves my point.

"Then why do you want me at all?"

"Because that's—you are what makes me feel alive. And you only risk dying by being alive."

We look at each other for a long moment, the cars speeding by. The world flies fast and away while it stops for the two of us.

"You know you're going to get a ticket, don't you?" I ask.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I've discovered quite recently that I'm a girl who takes a risk if it feels right."

A big rig whizzes by and I instinctively grab her, pulling her to me as I nearly have an aneurysm. She's smiling up at me.

"What?" I ask.

"You." She laughs.

"You know you are one frustrating female. Fine, I'll drive." I grab the keys she has folded up in her palm.

She takes the edges of my sweater and pulls me closer to her. "No, you are one frustrating male."

I look down at her, the wind from the traffic kicking up her hair.

"Maybe we're meant for each other," I say.

"Maybe so." She smiles and then leans up to kiss me.

I return to the driver's seat and as I pull away, I find myself humming Van Morrison. Maybe that brown eyed girl isn't so bad. But, I like a blue eyed one better.

Ana's watching me with surprise and I realize I've sung a few lines. I've never sung for another living soul... except my birth mother. And the last time I did that she was already dead.

"You know, if you'd have gotten a ticket, the car is registered in your name," I say. That's a bigger first than she'll ever realize.

"Well, good thing I got promoted. I can afford it." She smirks.

I laugh as I pick up speed. The sun is dipping and I need to get Ana to her sunset.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"It's a surprise." I grin. "Seriously, what did Flynn say?"

"He talked about PSFB or something—"

"SFBT," I say as I roll my eyes. "The latest therapy option."

"You've tried others?"

"Baby, I've been subjected to them all. You name it, I've been the scientific experiment."

"None of them worked?"

I shake my head. "Just you." I take her hand and bring her fingers to my lips.

"He said not to dwell on the past," she says. "Focus on the future—on where you want to be."

Okay, he knows where I want to be is married to her, so maybe this is good. But, I don't want his damn ten year plan.

"What else?" I ask.

"He talked about your fear of being touched, but he called it something else. About your nightmares and your self-abhorrence."

"He really built me up, huh?" I snicker, but I'm definitely going to cancel that check.

"Eyes on the road, Grey!" she says and I smile, shaking my head.

"You were taking forever in there..." I say, fishing for more.

"He says you aren't a sadist."

"Really?"

"He says that term hasn't been recognized in psychiatry since the nineties."

"Simpler times, huh?"

"He was pretty adamant."

"Flynn and I have differing opinions when it comes that."

"So you trust your own diagnosis over your doctor's?"

"Well..."

"If I had a cough, I wouldn't diagnosis myself with lung cancer."

"Did he pay you to say that?"

"He says you always think the worst of yourself. I know that's true. He also says sexual sadism is a lifestyle choice, not a psychiatric condition, maybe that's what you're thinking."

"One trip to the good doctor and you're an expert."

"If you don't want to know what he said, don't ask me." She watches me a moment. "I don't think you've been listening to him."

"Oh?"

"You told me that you've all but been diagnosed as a monster. But, he doesn't see you as the lost cause you say you are."

"That's because I pay him. Money encourages hope."

She frowns. "He called me your lover."

"Well, that's... accurate, wouldn't you say?" I wink. Although that word on Flynn's lips is disturbing. Where is she going with this?

"Did you think of your subs as lovers?"

"No, never. They were sexual arrangements."

"I was so close to being one," she says softly as she looks out the window. "What if I had signed—"

"Ana..." I hold to her hand again. "No matter what you or I thought back then, it was never possible. We were both changed day one."

"I know," she says and smiles.

"You are my only lover. And I want more..."

"More," she says, but she's still not giving anything away.

I exit the highway and drive the map through the residential area, finally turning when we reach 9th Avenue.

There are some children playing at the park. I watch them as we sit stopped at the light. They're running around a jungle gym, and climbing up on a model plane. There are a bunch of moms and a few dads looking on. Squeals and giggles. I marvel that this, if Ana likes the house, will be my view every evening when I come home from work. And I wonder if my sweater would someday look good in that park.

"Where on earth are we going?" she asks when the light changes and I continue to head away from anything either of us has ever known.

I don't answer her. I continue to drive. The twisting tree-lined paths frame this night perfectly.

Finally, we reach a tall iron gate. It's open, expecting us.

"Surprise," I say to her as I pass through, and soon her eyes are wide and fixed on the front door at the edge of the cobblestone.

And I really get the feeling that we are home.


	54. Chapter 54

It's been summer this evening on the winding drive up. Not because of the season or the temperature, but rather the feeling. That lazy twilight of barbecues and lemonade and no school the next morning. When the sun stays until nine and the fireflies take its place. Boys who've been kissed with pimples but not yet girls play basketball with a hoop nailed to a four car garage, while a mom wrangles a six-pack of uniformed little leaguers into an SUV. Pigtails bounce between hopscotch boxes drawn with fluorescent pink chalk on a sidewalk canopied by trees with strong arms for rope tied swings.

And I bring a girl to a house.

"Where are we going?" Ana asks, perched at her window. She's asked me that question three times and I've yet to answer. I just smile and raise a conspiratorial brow.

The sun is dipping and I find myself in a race with it. There are only so many moments allotted to a man that he can give his girl the rest of her life in a colored sky. And I know that I've only been given this one. I still feel like a thief who, when God wasn't looking, stole someone else's future. And every day, but especially this one, I fear they'll come to take it back.

"What is it, Christian?" Ana asks softly, stroking my shoulder.

"An idea," I say, my voice cracking at the end. I was never a cracker before Ana, but now I'm King Ritz. Christ, I've never been so nervous. Of course, I've also never been a man in a sweater showing a girl a house before.

She starts to say something, but stops herself again. Her eyes hold focus ahead. Stripes of falling sunlight and tall tree shadows move across her face, but I can still see her wheels turning. She's either trying to solve the puzzle of what the hell we're doing out here, or Flynn told her something that makes her fear I'm going to chop her up and bury her in an abandoned house basement hidden by dense woods.

"Will you keep an open mind?" I ask.

"I've kept an open mind since the moment I met you, Mr. Grey."

"That you have, Miss Steele." I grin.

I have to get her to her view!

Hell, how long is this driveway? I feel like we've been traveling up this thing for twenty minutes. Maybe it's only been three, but still. I'm delighted we'll be safely secluded and she can't run out on me easily when I do something monumentally stupid, but I'll have to have Taylor allow for an extra half-hour in the morning just to get us from our front door to the street. And if we have children we'll have to leave for school before their bedtime.

Children?! Bedtimes?! Me anywhere near a school?! Stop with the madness, Grey! They'll have flying cars and robot Taylors before that ever happens. I mean, even more robot than Taylor already is.

Finally, as the sky glows a pink that couldn't be a more fitting shade of welcome, we reach the front. I look over to Ana and imagine—if she gives me the privilege—the thousands upon thousands of drives we'll make up here, and how this one is the first.

And she doesn't even know it yet.

My plan is to pull up in dashingly dramatic fashion, like one of those old black and white movie romantics, open her car door and then revel in the splendored gasp she lets out as she takes everything in. I envision her throwing her arms around my neck, then wildly kissing me under that willow while the breeze blows through her hair and sunlight halos her crown.

But instead, Olga Kelly's ass is in my face.

Well, the ass of her Beamer, but with realtors that's the same thing. I'm perturbed, to say the least, that Ms. Kelly decided to park her eyesore right out front, in my spot. And by eyesore I mean a plank of wood soaked in isopropyl alcohol staked through your eye and coming out the other side. Who the hell gets metallic puce with white leather and expects to have respect anywhere but a shady acres retirement community. I'll tell you why those places are always shady—so they can't see this shit! I know one thing, Audi would never sponsor such carnage.

"What is going on here?" Ana asks.

"Sacrilege," I mutter under my breath. That's not even white leather. It's like old paper.

"What?" Ana asks.

"Nothing." I wave it off and then pull in front of that dreadful thing. I don't want Ana's first memory of our Shangri-La to be of puce BMW ass.

After a winding, nerve racking, beautiful and exhilarating drive toward this monumental unknown, I stop, take a deep breath and then turn the key in the center to a powerless position. And I realize that pretty much sums up the story of my life since Ana.

"You know how Flynn said to give me the benefit of the doubt?" I ask, nerves pinning my eyes dead ahead.

"Yes."

"Well then, proceed."

I hop out to open her door and escort her beneath the shouldered archway, beyond the rose bushes—so much fertilizer it's like a cow's got a job with stock options shitting out here— and to the front door, nearly tripping on the welcome mat as I reach for the worn brass knob. The "Hell You're Home" (Yes, it's missing the o!) does welcome us, but sideways and stage right.

"Christian, this is someone's house," Ana whispers, aghast, as I open the front door and walk her right inside.

"Yes, I know."

Again, what I envisioned for this moment was crossing the threshold hand-in-hand and being met with the scents and relative sights of home. But not ten steps in we're knocked out with something that smells like it was burnt up in a Betty Crocker meth lab. The only comparison I have would be if those hot tamale candies were dipped in hundred proof vodka, smashed onto tinfoil and torched—for hours.

This is definitely worse than raisin cookies, and that's saying a lot.

"Is something burning?" Ana asks.

"Yes, whoever did this when I send them to the afterlife," I mutter. It's somehow cleared my sinuses and destroyed them all at once.

"Welcome," Olga says, practically singing it as she approaches from the kitchen, all paisley and pumps, carrying a silver tray that looks like it's been looted from the ruins of some fallen monarchy. "Can I offer you a warm cookie?" She removes a lid from a plate holding two dozen or so half burnt, misshapen things. Are those crescent moons or rectangles that lost confidence?

Why didn't I have Gail come over here and bake the cookies? Hell, even Taylor could've managed one of those little tubes you squeeze out and blob onto a pan. Even I could've—no I won't go that far. But seriously, what the hell kind of realtor has a bad sedan and no baking qualifications?

"I prefer to smell my cookies, not eat them," I say without parting my teeth.

"Oh, of course," Olga says, and then sets the tray down on the circular stone table thing that centers the foyer. "I just couldn't resist baking in the high end La Cornue oven or utilizing the twin French white marble islands, custom cabinetry and long style pantry that allows for easy navigation and temperature control for optimal food storage." She smiles at Ana. Ana smiles back, but more in the way you smile at the insane so they won't lash out and stab you with a magic marker.

Why the hell is Olga trying to hard sell a place she's already sold to the girl who unknowingly owns it?

As I try to ponder that question, a song cudgels its way through the speakers of the archaic sound system. It's vaguely familiar with lots of hoppy bell action and a woman who keeps attempting to break a glass with her marathon high notes.

"Is that Mariah Carey's Christmas song?" Ana asks.

Oh my God. It is. Mia used to play that non-stop. She'd have Barbie sing it to Ken.

"Christmas music?" I whisper to Olga, still not parting my teeth.

"You said you wanted it to feel like a family holiday home," she whispers back.

She took me literally? When does anyone do that? Well, actually everyone does or they face my wrath. But hell, if she was going to play holiday jingles why not at least give us Bing?

"Turn it off!" I say to Olga.

"Yes sir—" She scrambles for a little remote on the stone table.

"Oh, I kind of like it," Ana says and Olga stops.

"You do?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says, nodding in time with the jingle bell beat. "I loved this song growing up."

"But it's not Christmas."

She shrugs. "Christmas in July, then."

"But, it's not July."

"Yes, but if people put up trees in November, then we can listen to Christmas in July carols in June."

"Fair point well made, Miss Steele."

God, I love her.

"Leave it on!" I say to Olga and she relinquishes her hold on the remote control.

"Can I take your things? Perhaps your sweater, Mr. Grey?" Olga asks.

"No, we're fine," I say, highly annoyed. "I'll keep it on in here." I adjust my lapels. The sweater is the whole fucking point!

"Christian, I think you forgot to introduce us," Ana says just as I notice the light really pinking through the windows.

"Right. Anastasia Steele this is Olga Kelly, Olga Kelly this is Anastasia Steele," I say. "Now if you'll excuse us, Ms. Kelly, Miss Steele and I will be in the master bedroom." I take Ana's hand and pull her away.

"Christian!" Ana squeals as I rush us to the staircase in a flurry. I imagine playfully chasing Ana through these halls and having my wicked way with her on these stairs and in these closets, or maybe over a good, sturdy ironing board... I've never shared with anyone my erotic domestic fantasies before. Anything like that was contraband to Elena, so I suppressed them for years. But being with Ana and buying this house has brought to the surface the most illicit of all my fantasies—her, sipping tea at breakfast with me, bearing my last name.

"You know your friend is still downstairs with her cookies!" Ana says as I rush us down the hallway.

"Good. We should all sit with our failures awhile."

I wanted this trip upstairs to be quick, exciting, and romantic, but I have to keep halting my hurry to peek into different empty rooms to figure out where I am. Where the hell is the master suite? This hallway is almost as long as the driveway. The real concern living in this place may not be Ana leaving me. It may be that I can never find her.

Oh, but hide and seek could be so much naughty fun...

Finally, hooked around the corner at the end of this maze of opulent domesticity, we reach a set of double doors. I release her hand and then grasp both knobs. I'm shaky, so I pause before turning the brass. Behind them is either what could be the beginning of a lifetime with her or the absolute end of my own.

"Is something wrong?" Ana asks, softly touching my shoulder.

"Finally no, so yes, definitely." I close my eyes and take a deep breath, hoping against all hope that there is still color and light in that sky and the moon hasn't told the sun to drop it like it's hot early just to fuck with me.

And yes, I seriously believe the universe would change all its laws just to do this.

I can't stall anymore. I must face my fate. I turn both knobs in unison and push the doors apart, and when I open my eyes it's heaven.

"Christian..." Ana says, fingers to her mouth as she passes me and crosses through. I follow quickly behind.

The French doors to the balcony are open and the most perfect breeze is billowing through the gauzy drapery. For a moment we're transported to French Polynesia or one of the Saintly islands. Honeymoon spots. Soft hues of magenta and coral reflect through and it blushes her skin. I don't have to lead Ana to the balcony. She's drawn to it all on her own. And the gasp I was hoping for when we arrived happens when she steps outside.

The universe didn't let me down. It's been doing that a lot lately. Who knew there was a possibility we could be friends.

"Oh Christian," she says, placing her hands on the edge of the railing. "This is why you brought me here." She looks over to the water. It's crystal blue and sparkling in this light, mirroring her eyes. Both are like nothing I've seen and I have to pinch myself to prove that they're real.

"Yes," I whisper, shadowing behind her.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"I agree," I say, and I don't take my eyes off of her.

"Thank you," she says, leaning her head back onto my chest. I don't flinch, marveling that it's so marvelous to feel her warmth and her cascading tresses over my heart. And without even realizing it, I'm wrapping my arms around her and pulling her closer to that place I thought no one could ever go.

I want more.

"I'll always remember this," she says as the sun descends.

This is it, Grey. Here and now or forever hold your peace.

"What if you didn't have to remember?" I ask and she stills, lifting her head.

"What do you mean?"

"How would you like this view for the rest of your life?"

I'm gut clinchingly hoping for a _yes_ and heartbreakingly wincing for a _no_—which basically feels the same, but with different subtext of pain—but she doesn't say anything at all. She just turns in my arms and regards me in this dazed, sort of confused silence. She's not angry, but she's not really happy, either. She's thinking and that's even worse for me. When left in thought over the things I do, one ends up calling Flynn—or worse yet, a cab.

"I've always wanted to live on the coast," I say, motioning toward the water. "I've sailed up and down the sound for years, coveting these houses." Did I really just say coveting? I sound like my father preparing a Sunday school lesson. Maybe it's the sweater.

She's still watching me, but I think she's actually listening to what I'm saying.

Keep talking, Grey!

"I thought the land was perfect. It just came on the market and I just happened to see it..." Happened to? Idiot, Grey. Who just happens to see multimillion dollar estate listings?

"The view is spectacular," I continue. "I mean, the house is quite old, I know, so we can demolish it and start fresh. Anything you like. The sky's the limit." I brush her cheek with my fingertips and then gently hold the tip of her chin, tilting her head up so her eyes see mine. "I'm serious, Ana. I want this to be the house you've always dreamed of. The home you want to grow old with me in."

I think she's going to say something, as she's looking straight at me, getting a college degree in the study of my face, but she doesn't. She slips from my reach and walks back into the bedroom. And all I'm left with is the setting sun.

Oh God, what did I say?

I follow her quickly inside, panicked that she's leaving, but I find her standing in front of the stone fireplace as if examining a piece of art. Maybe she's imagining what I did when I first saw it—us making love in front of a lit fire.

Can we just do that now?

"Why do you want to demolish it?" she asks.

"Well, it's so lived in." I motion to some peeled paint and cracked plaster. "Plus, I want to make it ecologically sound and this place isn't anywhere near up to standard, let alone what I have planned." I step closer behind her and place my hands on her shoulders. "And most importantly, I don't want to give you someone else's house."

She's quiet again. Fuck.

She turns to face me. "Can we look around?"

"Of course." I clear my throat and back away, allowing her to exit the door. I wonder why she wants to peruse a house we're going to tear down, but I welcome any opportunity to parade around a domestic environment for her in my patriarchal wool.

She makes her way out of the bedroom and into the hallway, peeking her head into each empty room that I peeked my head into earlier.

"There's nothing in them," I say, but from the look on her face she's seeing something I don't.

How many bedrooms?" she asks, catching a hand on a doorframe and moving inside one that's painted pink and spotted with daisies and ladybugs.

"Eleven," I say.

"_Eleven_?" She raises a brow. I guess I shouldn't tell her I was thinking of making it a baker's dozen.

"Well, that's only if you count, you know... all of them."

"You coveted a home with _eleven_ bedrooms?" She smirks up at me. "Whatever would you do with all of them?"

"What can I say? I'm a man who likes to have a lot of... empty sleeping arrangements surrounding him."

I immediately bite my tongue to prevent more word vomit from projecting forth.

She giggles and then traces a finger along a shelf of a towering built-in bookcase. A ceiling-to-floor ladder is attached to the wall next to it. All I can think of is the neck breaking injuries that could occur if one would climb such a thing, and of course at that exact moment she hops on and climbs such a thing.

No self preservation.

"Ana, what are you doing?" I ask as she heads for the top.

"Counting books."

"There are no books."

"Okay, counting possibilities." She looks down at me and if my sweater wasn't holding in a dam of sweat before, it's fending off the ocean waters now.

"Ana, please get down."

"I like this room."

"Of course you do. It's giving me a heart attack. Your favorite past time!"

She giggles. "No, this room is sweet."

"It's a little girl's room, it's supposed to be."

"A little girl turned teenager turned all grown up and moved away young woman's room," she says.

"There's a country song in there somewhere," I say and she laughs.

"I'm serious."

"I'm serious, too. Get down!" She playfully sticks out her tongue. "Ana!" Of course she doesn't listen. "How do you know all that anyway?

"Know all what?"

"Everything about the girl. How do you know all that from an empty room?"

"The daisies were for the little girl, but you can see she got tired of them by the peeled paint where tape held posters that the teenager put over them. And these shelves..." She motions toward them. "They're loose." She demonstrates this with a shake of a plank and my heart nearly stops. "They have scuffs and scratches. The books grew heavier over the years. She was smart."

"You know, you should replace Welch." I smirk. She's CIA worthy in her investigative work.

"And I like that it feels so empty now," she says, a bit wistful.

"Why?"

"Because once it was so full." She smiles and looks down at me. "And a thing can't truly be empty if it never really held anything."

I sigh. "You're right, Miss Steele." A truth I knew well the morning she left.

"I am jealous she grew up with such a library." She looks up as if looking at a million books, lining a million shelves.

"You'll have your own here. Bigger and better than Escala or anywhere. In fact, the British Library will call wanting to borrow a few titles. And I'll hire a book retriever so you won't climb high ladders. Just please come down."

"What's a book retriever?" she asks with a giggle as she swings a bit on the ladder.

"A very old female librarian."

"You'd have an old lady climb up here?"

"I'll put in a lift. Please, if you don't want to kill me, come down."

She smiles, and I wonder if she's debating it, but then she quickly climbs down. I don't breathe until both feet touch the floor.

"I don't want to kill you," she says, now standing in front of me. "I want to do too many things with you first that you have to really be alive for." She reaches up and brushes my cheek with soft fingers and a smile that does more for me than anything ever has. And suddenly, in this room of books and ladybugs and all of its emptiness, I see Ana as a little girl. She's curled up reading or playing with dolls. I can see her as a princess with a crown, twirling in a tutu and ruffled socks slipping out of her mother's high heels. But then, all of a sudden, she's different. The little girl has Ana's hair and fair complexion, but my eyes...

I shake my head. There's no way anyone like me could ever have a daughter. But, I have to admit, there's a small part of me that doesn't want to have to believe that anymore.

"Shall we look around downstairs?" I ask and she nods. I need to get away from the ladybugs.

"Where's the kitchen?" Ana asks, sliding the hand with the vacant ring finger along the banister. This just proves Ana wasn't altogether right. A thing can be empty if it never held anything before.

"Follow the scent of sulphur," I say and she giggles.

"I have two questions," Ana says. "First, who is Olga, and second, why was she baking cookies to Christmas music?"

"First, she's the realtor, and second... uh, let's just find the kitchen." I shuffle us along.

Thankfully most of the smoke has cleared by the time we get to it and Olga's keeping her distance. I see she's opened up all the windows and doors. Probably because the fire department was about to launch their hoses and issue citations.

"So, who lived here?" Ana asks, as she notices those children's heights marked on the wall at the pantry that I saw before. She touches the top one, the second, then the smallest, and lets her fingers rest for a moment over the height mark just short of four feet.

"A banker and his wife and children," I say. "I don't know much. They were old, Olga told me, and she died last winter. He couldn't stay here without her..." I take a breath. "Well, the kids are selling it for him." Ana opens a cabinet and I eye an empty coffee canister that must've been left. I wonder if that's what they drank every morning of their life together. I always thought special dinners out are what's memorable, but suddenly a can of grounds holds more romance than a top Michelin five star. "

"They were happy here?" she asks.

"Yes, I think very."

She smiles and then heads to the west island. Yes, the kitchen is so big there are west and east.

Being in here with her is a strange mix of feeling like I don't belong at all and this is the place I was meant to be my entire life. That thief in the night feeling again.

"Ana, we can make this place anything you like. I'll rip it down and build you Rome. Just say yes."

"No," she says too fast.

No.

"No?" I gulp.

"No."

"Okay..." I gasp. "Does that mean no?"

"I don't want you to build a new house for me."

I run a hand through my mop and pull a fistful nearly hard enough to release my brain. "But I was serious before, you can have anything, absolutely anything! Just please don't leave me—"

"Leave you?" she asks, with an incredulous nose scrunch. She steps to me and takes my hand. "I'm not going to leave you. I just don't want another house."

"I don't understand." Maybe she's an apartment kind of girl. Or does she want a castle? I can do that.

"I like this one."

"You do?" I ask in my bewilderment.

"Sure. It's a little beat up and maybe not so pretty in parts..." She squeezes my fingers. "But I love it." She leans in closer. "And just because a thing has a past doesn't mean you just give up on it. I think all it needs is some tender loving care."

I'm floored. And I didn't think it was possible, but I love her even more.

"Oh, Ana," I say, cupping her face with both hands.

"What?"

"Thank you for loving old houses." And before I even realize it my lips are on hers. The kiss deepens and we disappear into it. I push us up against the west island, right beneath the rack that holds pots and pans.

And amazingly, without a cookie baking, the whole place smells like home.

########

"So, you're going to buy it?" she asks as I drive us away in her car. The sun is gone now, but it feels brighter than when we arrived.

"Yes." _We're_ going to buy it, baby. Actually, we already did.

"You'll put Escala on the market?" If I'm not mistaken, she's a little disappointed by this.

"Why would I do that?"

"To pay for it—"

I hold up a hand. "Trust me, I can afford it." I grin.

"Do you like being rich?" she asks as she scrunches her nose. Oh baby, you'll like it too. I'll give you the world.

"Yes. But, mainly because I know what it is to be poor."

"Wealth isn't something I've ever aspired to."

"I know." I smile. "But, you've never been hungry."

Ana rests her head back on the seat and looks out the window. The face striping shadows of early evening now replaced by the lights of night.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"It's a surprise."

She pops up. "Another surprise? I don't know if my heart can take it."

"Well,..." I reach over and clasp her hand. "This one is to eat and to celebrate." I bring her knuckles to my lips and kiss them.

"Celebrate the house?"

"Celebrate your new job."

"Oh right." She smiles and tucks herself back into the seat. I keep hold of her hand. I will as long as I can. "So where to?"

"My club."

"Your club?"

"Yes, I have a few." I wink.

########

"What's Taylor doing here and why is he holding your blazer?" Ana asks, arm tucked in mine, as we step into the lobby of the building that's home to the Mile High Club.

"It's a jacket and tie place," I say as we approach him.

"Good evening, Mr. Grey, Miss Steele," he says as he opens and holds out my coat. I shrug out of my sweater and he helps me into my jacket sleeves. And remarkably we don't have to stop our walk to the elevator to do this.

"Thank you, Taylor," I say and he nods appreciatively. "And be careful with the sweater. It's become very important to me. Arm it with cedar!" I give him a look that means business.

"Yes, Mr. Grey. I have the balls at home." He gives another nod, but this time it's in farewell.

"Bye Taylor!" Ana waves and I think the fucker smiled. "We should've at least asked him to join us," Ana says to me.

"Uh, no." I roll my eyes. That's just what I need Taylor as my third leg watching Ana suck down oysters.

"Why not?" she asks.

"Because he only eats standing up," I say. She shakes her head. Hey, that's really not a lie.

The elevator ride up is long. Made considerably longer due to Anastasia's skirt being considerably shorter than I realized. While assessing the hem with roaming fingers, I'm also looking down at her cleavage and a peek of lace sticking out from her bra. Aside from the fact I'm pissed Flynn was in a dark room alone with her talking about feelings—and my insanity—for so long with her lingerie possibly visible, I wonder how perfectly her panties match and if she'd let me reach up her skirt and sneak my fingers beneath the elastic edge to play as we dine.

This gets me to thinking. With a sinful grin I work out a delicious plan for tonight that doesn't involve dinner. Well, at least not what's on the menu.

"Why do you look like you just ate a canary?" Ana asks.

"Because I'm thinking about it." I raise a brow. The elevator dings and the doors part.

"Mr. Grey, welcome," the hostess says as Ana and I step out and walk to the reception area.

"Thank you, Marie," I say.

"Molly," she says.

"Whatever you like. Escort us to our table." She's giving me the eye. The other one is fixed on Ana, so with those overly injected lips she officially looks like a fish.

"Tonight please," I say. She gives a quick nod and Ana and I follow Molly Mackerel to the special room I've had prepared.

We wind around the bar and dance floor where far too many eyeballs belonging to penises stare at my girl. I'm having to perform ocular karate left and right like it's my superpower. It kind of is.

"Christian, what is all this?" Ana gasps as we enter the private room that's decorated to the nines with gold balloons, a bursting floral centerpiece and the finest Cristal chilling in a silver, ice filled bucket.

Ok, I went overboard. It fucking delights me.

"I told you we were celebrating," I say with a wink as I help her take her seat in the booth facing the endless skyline of downtown Seattle.

"This is all to much," Ana says, eyes sparkling.

"Nonsense," I say as I fill our flutes with bubbly and take my seat beside her. "To SIP's new fiction editor." I lift my glass to toast.

"It's just temporary," she says as she clinks and then sips. The bubbles must tickle her nose because she scrunches it up and giggles. And the ways her lips wrap around that rim... I have to adjust.

"Until they discover how great you are," I say.

"You didn't have anything to do with this?" she asks.

"Well, I didn't personally decorate the place, but I did provide instructions to the staff. They advised silver balloons, but I insisted on gold. You're always first place."

"Not dinner." She grins. "I mean my job."

"No, you got it all on your own." And they'll take it from you over my dead body.

I peruse the menu and realize everything listed will give me an erection when I see it on her lips tonight. Fuck it, we're definitely getting those oysters. I need to see her swallow in that pouty pink lip gloss. I've never known lips so fuckable.

"Thank you," she says.

"For what?" Did I say that last part out loud?

"For believing in me. For all this. For everything."

"Of course, baby. I'll always believe in you. And protect you. And cherish you." And make sure no one fucks with your dreams.

She tucks in close under my arm.

"I miss your snuggle sweater," she says.

"Don't worry. You'll be seeing it a lot in the new place." I kiss her head.

"I have a question," she says, fiddling with my jacket lapels.

"Is it painful?" I ask.

"Is what painful?"

"The question."

"I don't think so, but I can't be sure."

"Okay." I wince for impact. "Ask away."

She stops fiddling and looks up at me. "Why didn't you buy a house out there before I came along?"

"Well, I think one man secluded on the water with all those empty bedrooms would be lunacy, don't you?" I smirk.

"No different than all those rooms in the sky."

"Ana, there were a lot of things before you I knew I couldn't have. I needed to be close to the office. I needed to devote my time there. That's just what

young successful business people do."

"Did _she_ tell you that?"

"Ana..." I shift, annoyed, but more at the fact that she's right. _She_ did tell me that. All the damn time.

"Why Escala?" Ana asks, sitting up again.

"I don't know. I just..."

My thoughts drift back...

Elena clinked my champagne glass when I made my first billion. We dined on Kobe beef and fugu sushi—blowfish that poisons you if it's not cut by a master—flown in direct from Japan. I remember thinking how odd it was to kill a thing and then fly it first class.

We weren't dining in a restaurant that night. She had taken me to Escala.

"Christian, this is where you're meant to live, trust me," Elena said, still clinging to her last drops of bubbly as she looked out the floor to ceiling windows. "It's spacious and there's so much light. The view is unreal." She turned back to me. "This is who you want to be."

"It's nice," I said.

"Of course you'll want a full remodel."

"Oh?"

"Christian..." She blew out a breath. "You're an extraordinarily wealthy man now. You should design it to your specifications. No one wants to live with the nicks of someone else's past. You of all people should know that."

"Of course," I said.

"It has room for guests," she said, giving me the tour. Her realtor friend gave her the key and even helped her with catering. Knowing a billionaire may buy, they give you easy access. "And you could convert a bedroom upstairs to meet your needs."

"Yes, I know."

"Don't sound so excited," she said with that polished red pout.

"It's just a place to sleep." I shrugged and finished my champagne. I kept looking at the clock to see if I was out of the range of danger for the blowfish to kill me. I wasn't yet.

"Christian," she said as she walked to me, heels tapping on the marble. It made her predatory steps sound expensive. "You are this apartment now. You are finally that man." She smiled, but then it left her face quickly. "Grow some fucking balls and buy it."

I did. The next morning.

The night I moved in I pulled out a bottle of scotch to celebrate alone. It felt sneaky, like I was in high school again stealing from Carrick's liquor cabinet. And after a few sips I knew I wasn't celebrating.

I took a half-full tumbler and rolled the liquid around, my eyes sinking further into the swirling amber as I stepped out onto my balcony, so high above the world. I watched the city move in jerks and swells as my eyes blurred from drink and the lights from the cars became fuzzy lines that disappeared into the dark unknown.

I envied those blurry lines. They could soften and disappear in the blackness.

I thought of the crack whore in the pit of hell watching me living up in the sky. She'd see that my scarred chest was now covered in fine poplin. In that moment, it was important for me to think she saw that.

I lifted my tumbler to toast myself and to drink scotch that would take her a dozen or more fucks to buy. I stumbled a bit, the scotch sloshing out as my hands caught my trip on the ledge. The glass shattered against the stone and there was blood on my hand. I could smell the alcohol, and all I could think is that I smelled like a more impressive him. The alcohol burned as it slid into the gash on my palm. That felt like him, too.

Those blurred lines racing toward infinity caught my eye again. I leaned over just enough to make a bet with the reaper. And there was a profound hollowness in my gut. I could disappear into the blurred night.

"Christian, what is it?" Ana asks, pulling me from memory. From the look on her face, I've scared her.

"Uhh... I don't know..." I shake my head. "No, Elena wasn't trying to make me unhappy. She was just protecting me..."

"From what?"

"From myself. From disappointment. You don't know what I was like."

"Are you disappointed now?"

"What? No, that's the last thing I'm feeling." I take her glass away, set it down and hold to her hands. "But, she couldn't possibly know that this could be so real and so good for a person like me. And I couldn't very well carry out my lifestyle in a family home. That's what I needed then."

"So she did find Escala for you?"

"Well, yes, technically," I say and she frowns. "Let's not talk about her. It's all about you and me and the future tonight. Not Elena."

"Okay," Ana says. "Let's not talk about her tonight."

"Good." I hand her back her drink and take a sip myself. "I have an idea..." I lean in and whisper into her ear, "Go take off your panties."

"What?" she asks, surprised.

"You heard me. Go."

"My skirt is short," she squeaks.

"Don't bend over." I raise a brow. "Pass them to me when you get back from the ladies room."

She looks around, testing her bravery. And I'm delighted when my girl stands up, bites her lip and then walks away from the table. I watch her ass.

Oh Ana, we're going to have so much fun.

**_Thank you for all the love and sorry for the delay! There will be more soon. And thanks for those reading my other story, too! Happy Mother's Day to all the moms! If you haven't read it, there's a Mother's Day part (where the kids and Christian make breakfast for Ana) in Grey Hearts and Flowers from last year. xox_**


	55. Chapter 55

"Black cod, rare," I say to the mustachioed server taking my order and my thoughts immediately go to the rarest delicacy of all currently being unsheathed in the ladies room just paces away. I imagine Ana's panties sliding over the swell of her ass, skimming her thighs and catching at her ankles, before she collects them for me. She'll return with my delectable little fistful and find the exact replica of our first sexually charged dinner together spread out before her, while I imagine her spread out before me.

I must have that black cod.

"No black cod, sir," the server says, staring ahead like a Marx brother who's a fucking tragedy.

I shut the menu I'm perusing and glare into his beady little watchers. "I'm sorry, but that sounded like a negative conclusion to my positive expectation."

"Uhh... yes, I suppose," he says. He looks confused. By life.

"Why?" I ask.

"Wasn't the fresh catch today, sir." He shrugs. The way his shoulders fly up to his ears makes him my mortal enemy.

"What was?" I ask.

"White bass," he affirms.

"Why would I want white bass over black cod?" Why does that sound like a line in a fisherman porno?

I'm oddly disturbed that that could actually be a thing. And that this idiot with his skunk fur 'stache could star in it.

Gives crab catching a whole new meaning.

"I don't know, sir. It's available." He shrugs again and my hand nearly flies to the butter knife to give him a forcible shave. But instead of assaulting his upper lip with dairy spreading equipment, I pick up my BlackBerry to assault the keys instead.

"Hold on," I say as I rush a text to Taylor: _How fast can you deliver two portions of top grade black cod to this kitchen? _

He replies quickly: _Sir? _

What the hell kind of response is that?

Oh wait. I guess I typed too fast, because I look again and see that autocorrect changed _cod_ to _cock_ and _kitchen_ to _kitten_.

I text back: _Butt dial. _

Though, I'm not sure that was a solid reply.

I debate if I want to have heads roll in the _kitten_ over this, but I don't want to prolong getting Ana home—especially with everything out there in the open down in paradise south. Black cod isn't worth blue balls.

"Fine, bass," I bite. "But, prepare it like cod."

"The chef's funny about changes."

"Well, I'm fucking hilarious with my magic trick of the disappearing employment," I spit back.

"Of course, sir." He clears his throat and straightens. "Will that be all?"

"Uh, no," I say. Is this idiot for real? "What do you think I want—just two hunks of cod on a platter and call it a night?"

"Bass," he corrects.

I glare at the fucker. "I'm getting laughingly close to a full blown magic show."

"Of course, sir, I just thought—"

I lean in, with menacing authority. "I own this place and I'm on a date. I always get side dishes."

"Yes, sir."

"Asparagus—large stalks, cut long," I continue. "I don't want those wimpy tips, either. I want girth and weight."

"Mile high never has wimpy tips," he says. I give him the once over and a head shake in reply. He could be the poster child for tips that wimp.

"Extra hollandaise," I add.

"How much extra?"

"If I see the girth and weight, I'm channeling Houdini."

"Yes, sir."

"And roasted potatoes. Not baked, not mashed, not riced out of the chef's asshole—roasted. Olive oil, rosemary— are you writing this down?"

"I have a good memory," he says. I give him a look. "I'm writing this down." He does as he's told.

"Send an oyster selection out first. A dozen, both coasts. Large, briny and creamy."

"Of course," he says and I wave him away. Like a gnat, it takes a few swats.

My phone buzzes. I pull it from my pocket, half expecting emergency business or more parental dick exposure stories from Elliot, but no. It's Elena.

Why the hell is she calling me again? Probably because I won't return her calls.

I actually feel like I'm hiding from her. Like when those religious groups come to your door with their pressed-collared suits and glossy pamphlets that tell you you're going straight to hell without a sizable donation and your soul. You peek at them through a part in the blinds and pretend you're not home. You don't tell them to go away straight to their faces. No, there's still some part of you that believes God will strike you down if you do.

I don't listen to the message. I shut the phone off and return it to my pocket.

The telling tip-tap of Louboutins kissing tile pulls me to attention. I watch as Ana makes her way back. God, her legs are long in that skirt. I want to lick the arches of her feet, and her calves, and run my tongue up her inner thigh until I taste the promised land. She must read my mind, because she's blushing and fighting a giggle. Or, maybe it's just being pantiless, though she wasn't laughing at my parents' dinner table. Whatever the case, it's the adorable diversion I need to forget everything but her.

"Well, the lady has returned," I say with wicked glee, eyes fixed on the crumpled lace escaping between her fingers. "A gift for me?"

The smirk/eye-roll synchronicity she produces is trophy worthy as she leans over, her cleavage right in my face. She looks left and then right, and once she's certain no one's looking, she places the panties in my palm.

"Good girl," I whisper, scrunching the lace up in my fingers and fighting the urge to near suffocate myself with their erotic perfume.

I resist. For now.

Ooh, they're damp...

Come and sit by me," I say, fisting the panties into my pocket. Sit by me and come is more like it.

Oh, but not just yet...

Pulling her skirt down snug against her thighs, she sits and scoots in next to me. Once settled, she lets go of the hemline and parts her knees just enough to tell me she wants my attention, but she's still a lady.

She thinks it's going to be that easy?

My dick is arguing her case to my zipper, but I maintain my resolve.

The oysters arrive. Big, juicy ones—all brine and cream and nautical naughty— spread out on a bed of ice that makes me want to devour something else that's now uncovered and on the half shell under the table.

"I recall you liked oysters that time we had them," I say, motioning to the assortment. They really do resemble pussies. Then again, with the current situation that's just been uncovered, I'm probably seeing the world through vagina vision glasses.

"The only time I've tried them." She chews on her lip, cutting her eyes from the tray and up to me.

"Oh Miss Steele, when will you learn." I lift one from the crushed ice, prepare it—manipulating the sliced lemon with long and purposeful strokes and twists, so it's dripping over the meat—and hold it up for Ana to taste.

"Tilt your head back and suck, remember?" I say and she gives me a soft nod. "You're very good at that, I recall."

"And I swallow everything, right?" She stretches the words out long and with a deep throated purr.

"Right," I say in a graveled whisper, still focused on length and depth. "Let it slide down your throat, baby." With measure, I place the hand not holding the oyster onto my thigh. She watches my fingers move back and forth over material ever so slightly, and I can feel her telepathically willing them to lift and find the throbbing heat at the center of her now even more parted legs.

"Do you think you can handle such a big mouthful?" I ask, continuing my torment.

"Try me." She licks her lips, almost in slow motion. The tip of her tongue luxuriating in the taste of her kiss.

Her mind games are actually starting to work, as I feel my fingers dig into my thigh to prevent them from lifting and thrusting a boy scout salute straight inside of her parted way.

She tilts her head back, ever so slightly, inviting me with the soft opening of her lips to do as I please with her mouth.

Fuck. I think my nails are drawing blood on my thigh.

I place the rim of the shell between her lips, the jagged edge pressing against the soft pink flesh. She puckers and sucks, her head thrown back as the contents of the shell slide smoothly down her throat.

Holy shit.

"You can take the shell away now," she says. It takes me a moment or two to translate the English she's speaking to my brain, as Sex-lish is it's primary language at the moment. I suppose I should remove the shell from her lips, and collect my jaw and slobber from the floor, but only one appendage is responding.

Get it together, Grey.

"Perhaps I'll have a taste." I smile, harrowingly holding my composure as I adjust that responding appendage.

"Of what?" she asks, and her front teeth find her bottom lip, purposefully teasing me.

Well, two can play at that game, sweetheart.

With a smile, I turn my attention from her lips to the deep sea vaginas cradled on the ice before me. I prepare an exceptionally fleshy one so it's overflowing with lemon and sitting in a pool of it's own salt water. I suck some of the liquid back and use my tongue to collect the spill off the edges. She's breathy and gaping as she watches me suck and swallow, and if I know my girl, which I so do, she's close to coming and I haven't even touched her yet.

Hell, I'm close to it and I haven't even touched me.

Talk about your transcendental orgasms.

"Still like oysters?" I ask.

"Only yours," she says.

"Damn straight only mine."

We continue this swallowing contest until the tray is clear and my dick referees that she's won and she can collect her prize in the John.

I actually consider it.

Our meals arrive only two seconds prior to an _out of order _sign being placed on the ladies room door.

"It's like déjà vu," Ana says, looking down at the plate just set before her. "A favorite meal of yours, Mr. Grey?" She smiles.

"Indeed." I smirk.

Good, the chef's done well. She doesn't know it's really bass.

"Though, last time at the Heathman wasn't it cod?" she asks.

"Yes," I grumble.

"We were discussing contracts before," she says and I stop the collection of my silverware.

"Yes," I say with that grim realization. I can't fathom now that I ever wanted her to apply ink to those terms. No cuddling or laughter or an evening out like this one. It would all be this elaborately concocted dark secret. Each one of them was. As was my whole life.

"Before was a long time ago," I say.

"Forever," she says, and she rewards me with her smile.

"I like forever better than before," I say.

"Me, too," she says and her fingers gently touch my hand.

"Well, this time, I really hope I get to fuck you," I say.

"I wouldn't be too presumptive, Mr. Grey. I may get to you first." She picks up her fork to dine.

"We'll see." I grin as I pick up my own.

Game on, Miss Steele.

"Did you sign a contract?" she asks. "I mean, with Mrs. Robinson."

Shit. Back to Elena.

"Yes, way back when I did," I say. She knows this. Why is she asking me?

"Right away, I mean." I can tell she's chewing and testing the words before she uses them. "Did she really make you sign something like that at fifteen?"

"I needed structure," I say. "I told you, I was out of control. My rehabilitation required defined boundaries and I needed to be sure no one would ever touch me unexpectedly." Even as the words leave my lips I realize how shit they are. "I mean, I didn't know it would like this, between us, back then."

"Is that where you got my contract—and the others? Did you just copy hers?"

"Not verbatim, but in the spirit, yes. She helped me draw it up." I take my own bite of potato. "Why?"

"Just curious," she says and then takes a sip of champagne as she gazes pensively out onto downtown Seattle.

"I like you curious," I try and tease.

"That wasn't in the contract," she returns.

"It wasn't. And you were a terrible submissive." I smile. "And that's why we're here right now."

I hadn't thought about it before, as it was just commonplace, but Elena did draw up that initial paperwork. I agreed on what I liked and disliked, but much of what I knew was tied up—figuratively and literally—in what she and I did together. I liked all of it, or I thought I did. It was just... all I ever knew.

And a chilling realization sweeps over me. This is the first relationship, of any significant kind, that she didn't have any part in.

Well, except for Taylor.

"About the NDA—" Ana says.

"Tear it up," I say.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'll destroy mine tonight."

"But, then I could talk."

"You could," I say. "But, I trust you not to. Like Flynn says, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt."

"Me, too," she says with a smile. "Fuck the paperwork?"

"Yes. Well, except for a marriage certificate," I say, painfully hopeful. "Wait, I know. We could actually fuck on the NDA and completely destroy the paperwork together that way."

"I like that idea."

"I'm so glad you're wearing a dress." I raise a lascivious brow.

"Really? Why haven't you touched me then?" She saws through a potato and then stabs at it with her fork.

Carbohydrate massacre.

I like this.

"Missing my touch, are you?" I smirk and wipe the edges of my mouth with my napkin.

"Yes," she says. Another saw, another stab.

"Eat." I point to her plate. Playing around with your food used to be a cardinal sin with the submissives. Although, rules are made to be broken now, and from the looks of that fork in that potato, she's not playing around.

"You're not going to touch me, are you?" she asks.

"No."

"No?"

"No." I pop a potato in my mouth.

"Why not?"

"Just imagine how you'll feel when we get home." I lean in and whisper in her ear, making sure my breath warms her skin, "I can't wait to get you home."

"What if I spontaneously combust right here on the seventy-sixth floor?" she breathes.

"Oh Anastasia, we'd find a way to put that fire out."

Just when I think I've got her where I want her, she looks at me, far too long for good intentions, and then takes a forkful of potato, sucking it clean from the prongs. Her tongue pressing against those points nearly does me in.

"You like potatoes, do you?" I ask and she responds with a soft, satisfied moan.

She puts the knife down and runs her fingers over her sweet milky thigh.

This was my idea of a fun game? I claimed to be a sadist, but I think I'm leaning masochist these days.

"I know what you're doing," I say. I try to keep calm and carry on, but all I can think about is lapping up that sweet milk.

"I know that you know, Mr. Grey. That's the whole point." She takes a stalk of the absolutely drenched asparagus—kudos to the chef on that— and sucks the tip, driving it in and out of her puckered pout until it's clean. She then devours it.

"You're not turning the tables on me, Miss Steele." I take a stalk and run it over her lips so the goopy, buttery mess dribbles down her chin. I'm not sure how this is stopping her table-turning maneuvers, but fuck it's hot.

"Open your mouth," I order. Her lips part and I guide the tip in. She closes around it, her tongue slurping up the oozy, buttery cream in between the bobbing deep-throating action. Strange, I actually feel like I'm vicariously having a blow job through a stalk of a summer dinner vegetable.

"Delicious," she says and her hand moves dangerously close to my thigh.

"Don't touch," I say, lifting her fingers and putting her palm down on her knee.

"You don't play fair," she says.

"I know." I grin and pick up my champagne flute to propose a toast. "Congratulations on your new job."

"Thank you. It was rather unexpected," she says.

We clink.

"All the best things are." I look down to her still far too full plate. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry. Well, not for food." She runs her hands over her lap and moistens her lips with her tongue.

"Ana—"

"I just want to go home and make love," she says with a soft whimper.

"So do I, and we will. Eat up."

"I can't."

"Ana, you've lost far too much weight since I've met you."

"You don't find me attractive like this?"

"What? No, of course I do. It's not about how you look. I want you healthy."

"Fine," she says with a sigh, and takes a nibble of fish.

"Tell me about this Ethan Kavanagh fellow," I say.

"_Fellow_?" She looks at me like I'm a head of cabbage who thinks he's romaine.

"That blonde boy that has no home or job, whom you've set up with my sister."

"He's Kate's brother," she says, like that's supposed to be his defense. "I told you, he's just staying at the apartment until he gets school settled."

"Isn't he like thirty? Shouldn't he have this figured out?"

"No, he's only two years older than me. He's going to be a psychologist." She takes a sip of champagne. "He's like my good-friend-in-law."

"How good is good?" And why is she proposing legalities on the matter?

"Well..." She takes a bite of bass, in thought. "When I was sick sophomore year and he was visiting, he brought me chicken soup and we watched season four of _Sex and the City_ together."

"Wait, you watched an entire span of a show about horny metropolitan women wielding dildos with him?"

"I think there was more to the show than dildos, but yeah. Just as friends."

"No man watches _Sex and the City_ unless he wants in your panties. Especially with a virgin!" What kind of sick twisted fuck is this? And what's he got planned with Mia?!

"Christian, I had the flu. I had projectile phlegm."

"That's nothing to predators."

She shakes her head and amusedly returns to her bass. I pull out my phone, acting like I'm checking on business, and text Mia: _Sex and the City is forbidden!_

She replies immediately: _Thanks for the info, President Snow. _It's accompanied by a photo of a cosmo drunk Sarah Jessica Parker shooting the finger.

How'd she find that so fast?

And who the hell is President Snow?

I shake my head and put the phone back in my pocket.

"I know their father," I say, taking a sip of water, still pissed at this whole dildo flu episode.

"Eamon?" Ana asks.

"Yes, we've done a few deals together. He's quite the successful businessman." Mother Kavanagh must've thrown the apples about a mile from the tree. I'd love to share with Ana how Elliot was caught with his dick mid jack-off by Daddy K, but I'll save that for the next story hour.

"Yes, I suppose," she says, crinkling her nose like she's smelled skunk.

"What does that mean?"

"He's great at business. It's just... I don't want to speak badly about him, but I don't think he's faithful to Kate's mom."

"Well, it wouldn't surprise me. That's what these powerful men do." The smaller the dick, the more shallow holes it's been in.

"Oh." She casts her eyes downward to her plate.

"I know these guys, Ana. It's a power trip. They get bored. They need newness and excitement. The chase. Most are on their third marriage to some bottle blonde with fake tits by the time they're fifty."

"Is that what you want?"

"Blondes aren't my thing, you know that."

"No, I mean... The newness? The excitement?"

"What?" I look at her and see she's actually worried about this. "No, I wasn't talking about me. All I want is you."

"Maybe not now, because we're new and exciting, but you may get bored."

"I won't. Trust me."

"How can you be so sure how you'll feel in five or ten years?"

"Ana, do you really want to know my deepest, most hidden fantasy?" I take her hand and stroke the back of it with my thumb.

"Yes," she whispers, eyeing me warily.

"I want to leave work at five on a regular, ordinary Tuesday and walk through the door of my house, where my wife is waiting to eat with me the same meatloaf we have every Tuesday. And the same meatloaf I know we will have every Tuesday for the rest of our lives."

She sits there, quietly contemplative for a moment. "You really like meatloaf?" she asks.

I shake my head. "Ana, I've had far too many experiences of not knowing what's coming next. Unpredictability. Excitement, if you can call it that. I want the comfort of knowing with absolute certainty that it's meatloaf on Tuesday with my wife."

She smiles. "I do make a mean meatloaf." She twists her mouth in a grin. "But are you saying that if I was a food I'd be meatloaf?"

"I'm saying that you are prime grade, gourmet, orgasmic meatloaf."

"Orgasmic meatloaf." She smiles. "Sounds like a dish."

"Oh, it is."

Speaking of orgasms...

I dust a few bread crumbs off the napkin in my lap, purposefully making my fingers come dangerously close to her thigh.

She shifts on her seat as if trying to gain friction against the cushion.

"We're not going until you finish every bite." I nod to her still too food heavy plate and pull my hand away. "Trust me, I can wait."

She gives me a wicked glance and then picks up her knife and fork. Digging into the bass, she takes a large bite, closing her eyes and moaning it's deliciousness as she chews.

Fuck me.

"This is heaven," she pants as she slides another stalk between her lips, first sucking it dry, then taking it down. She then proceeds to demonstratively suck the remnants off of each fingertip that I so want to suck off for her.

"Good?" I groan. My ability to wait has been critically impaired.

"Yesssss," she pants.

This _Harry Met Sally_ act continues on for about five torturous minutes. I swear if I was listening to this I'd think she was being fingered under the table.

Why isn't this currently happening?!

"I'm all finished," she says, feigning innocence, as she pushes her plate away.

"Good girl," I growl.

"Now what?"

"Now, we get the hell out of here." I lean in to whisper seductively in her ear, "I believe you have certain expectations that I intend to fulfill to the best of my ability."

"Don't we need to pay?" she asks.

"I own this place." I grin. I'm a smug bastard, I know.

"Goodbye, Mr. Grey," that hostess says as I rush Ana by, heading straight for the elevator. "Come again soon!"

"Oh, that's the plan," I say and smirk down to Ana, who bursts out into a giggle.

The elevator doors part and I usher Ana inside, pushing the button for the ground floor. A gaggle of well-boozed club goers meander through and stand in front of us. I make sure Ana and I are secluded in a corner against the back wall.

Ana stares ahead, clueless as to what's about to over-_come_ her. I love taking her by surprise.

Sinatra muzak plays overhead as the doors seal us inside. I clear my throat and slowly kneel to the floor, until I'm eye level with Ana's thigh.

I have seventy-six floors to have her begging for my dick.

Ana, along with some random woman who keeps swaying from foot-to-foot, glances down at me on the floor. I work with my shoelaces. They don't seem to notice I untied one before tying it again. Their attention is stolen away by the ping announcing the seventy-forth floor.

Once the eyes of our car-mates fix ahead, I slowly run a finger up the back edge of her high heel, to the dip behind her ankle. She shifts and looks down at me. I mouth a shush and she stills.

My fingers travel up the back of her calf and up her thigh. I can feel her shiver as her skin pimples beneath my tips. I stroke the crevice where her ass meets her thigh, until I travel west and reach water.

"Always so ready, Miss Steele," I whisper in her ear as my now dripping fingers continue their play between her folds.

She softly hums both her appreciation and her torment as I strum her clit, feeling it swell and pulsate beneath my touch. She squirms when I dip one finger, then two inside of her, so I snug my other arm around her waist to still her.

"Don't come," I whisper in her ear as I hold myself knuckle deep inside of her. I roll my fingers around, stretching her and exploring. I know I've found her g-spot when her body jolts against me.

She mewls and grinds down on my hand as I add another finger and we find floor forty-four.

Fuck, I hadn't been paying attention, obviously, but this car is packed with drunks.

At least they're too inebriated to notice anything. Although, I'm wondering why so many people just got on. Isn't floor forty-four a medical supplies company?

"That's right. Feel me, Ana," I whisper, continuing to massage her most orgasmic place. I can feel the heat rising within her. She has to iron herself against my body to remain upright. When she grabs onto my lapel for dear life I know she's about to come undone.

Right where I want her.

The door pings open and finally we've arrived at the lobby. I pull out of her abruptly—leaving her panting and wanton—and then escort her through the doors.

"I can't believe you just did that," she says.

I smirk and then stick my two dripping fingers in my mouth, sucking them dry. "Mighty fine, Miss Steele."

"I can't believe you just did that!"

"You'd be surprised what I can do."

"Try me." She bats her lashes in challenge.

"I want to get you home," I say. "But maybe we'll only make it as far as the car."

"Car sex?" she asks, her voice quivering at the end, matching the state I've just put her in.

"Come with me." I take her hand and whisk her past the crowd of the meandering intoxicated.

"Yes, I want to," she says.

"Miss Steele!" I playfully chide.

"I've never had sex in a car," she says as we arrive outside.

"I'd be very surprised to hear you did." The thought of Ana having sex with anyone else unnerves me. Suddenly, I have horrid visions of the photographer selling her that old granny jalopy and planning that future for himself.

"Oh, no, I mean—"Ana says.

"What did you mean?" I ask. That fucker Rodriguez has a whole scam going. He gives them a deal on a car and then offers free repairs...

"Christian, it's only an expression," she snaps back.

"Oh yes, that famous expression _I've never done it in a car._"

"Christian! You've just done—"

"I've just done what?"

"Turned me on beyond reason." She gives me a look that I know has origin in her panties—or lack thereof. "Now, just take me home and fuck me."

A smile spreads across my face.

"You're a born romantic, Miss Steele." I take her hand just before the Saab pulls up to the valet.

"So you want sex in a car?" I ask.

"Quite frankly I would be happy with the lobby floor."

"So would I, but both of us in handcuffs negates the purpose, don't you think?" I smirk. "And I didn't want to fuck you in a restroom. Well, at least not tonight."

"You mean there was a possibility?" she asks and I give her a baited shrug. "Let's go back!"

I look down at her with a sensual gaze. "Patience, Anastasia." Though I'm having trouble with the virtue myself.

The car arrives and I move to open her door.

"Oh, we will fuck in a car," I whisper in her ear just before she sits, my mouth brushing against her soft skin. "At a time and place of my choosing." I can feel her smile against my lips. "And be careful when you sit. Your skirt is very, _very_ short." I run a finger along the edge of the hem. Her hand quickly covers mine and she pulls the fabric down, holding it tight against her ass as she finds her seat.

Before I take the wheel I text Taylor what feels like the most important directive I have ever given him: _Remove the flowers on the entryway table. _

#######

"Oh god, fuck me!" Ana cries out as I slam us down on that table—sans flowers. Taylor may not have brought _cock_ to my _kitten_, but he's getting a bonus tonight.

"Delayed gratification, Anastasia," I pant, my hands gripping her thighs as I push the fabric of her skirt up and reveal her beautifully bare below.

She gasps as her naked ass touches the cold marble.

What can I do to make you take me already?" she asks as she wraps her legs around me and starts to grind against my crotch. The evidence of her arousal coating my zipper.

"What can I do to make you say yes?" I ask.

She stops her grinding and pulls back to look at me. "I told you, I just need some time," she says softly.

Time. That thing that has a habit of running out.

"You know you fucking own me." I dip my head and rest it on her chest, in her cleavage. The scent of her skin—a mixture of her perfume and sweat and need—is intoxicating.

"Own you?" she questions.

I look up at her. A desperate boy, I know. But what else am I, really?

"Body, mind, soul. I can't live without your answer," I say.

"I promise you, you won't die without it." She brushes my face. "Soon."

"Why are you torturing me?"

"Delayed gratification." She grins.

"Fuck that." I take the back of her head in my hand, fingers twisting in her hair, and crash her mouth to mine.

"First surface here," I murmur against her lips and she moans approval.

I pull back and rummage through my pocket for a familiar foil packet, which I toss to her.

"Do you know how much you turn me on?" I growl as I begin to remove my pants and boxers.

She bites her lip and shakes her head as her knees knock against each other.

"Well, you do," I mutter. "All the time." I take the packet from her hand, rip it open and roll it over myself. Less than two days of these torture devices. It's like latex was invented to fuck with me. So to speak.

"Keep your eyes open," I say as I part her knees and wrap her long legs around me, positioning myself to take her at will. "I want to see you." She nods, and with her gaze held to mine, I sink into her.

"Oh god," she calls out, tilting her head back as I fill her.

"Open," I say, tipping her chin to me again as I hold myself deep inside of her. "I want to see you come."

She mewls a response that I quickly catch with my kiss, my tongue rolling around in her moaning. I start to really move, pumping in and out of her, and it's clear there's no way either of us will last. When I feel she's close, I reach down and massage her clit with my thumb.

"Give it to me, baby," I say. She tightens and throbs, milking my cock. It takes everything for me to hold back. It's sweet relief when her nails dig into my ass and she lets go with the most voluminous, life affirming orgasm.

"You're mine," I cry out, and I explode inside of her.

I find a moment of sweet rest with my head against her chest as we work to catch our breath.

But only a moment...

"I'm not done with you," I growl, ripping off and tying the condom to discard.

All at once, I hoist her up into my arms and head to my study.

"What are we going to do in there?" she asks as we arrive at the door.

"Fuck the paperwork." I grin.

########

"Satisfied, Miss Steele?" I ask as she lies naked, tangled in my arms. Finally, after countless rounds, we've found our bed and this lazy afterglow.

She stretches, arms above her head with an arched back, testing her body. "I think I'm beyond the realm of mere mortal satisfaction. But you, Mr. Grey, are not mere mortal."

"Back at you, Miss Steele." I smile, stroking her shoulder with my fingertips.

"I'm sorry about your office," she says with a giggle.

"Well, we can officially say that the paperwork has been destroyed." I laugh and then kiss her head.

"Is sex like this for everyone?" she asks after a few moments of the most comfortable silence imaginable.

"I don't know, but it's pretty damn special with you."

"Because you're pretty special, Mr. Grey."

"I think you need to get to sleep. You're a bit delirious." I turn over and move her into my arms so we're spooning. My most favorite way to fall asleep.

"You don't like compliments," she says.

"Rest," I whisper into her locks and kiss her there.

"I loved the house, Mr. Grey," she says, and I can tell she's not far from sleep.

"I love that you loved it." She has no idea the depth of how much.

She tucks into me and within moments she's out. As I lay there I can't stop from thinking that she really did love it—those nail marked walls, and well tracked floors, and a fully seasoned kitchen with grease and pencil marks from splatters and growth spurts.

She loved it.

I fall asleep with a smile.

#######

Bon Jovi wakes me today and I want to stab his vocal chords. My alarm again. I'm sure it's as surprised as I am that we've formed such a committed relationship. It's taken me nearly twenty-eight years and I'm finally being woken up.

But, why the fuck am I being woken up at five am?

Oh shit, I'm going to Portland today.

I'm reminded of this fact by the four texts from Ros telling me to study my shit and not be lost in a cloud of vagina today.

I'm not sure what a cloud of vagina is, but looking down at Ana, I'd like to be lost in that one right now.

Yeah, I guess I have been a little unpredictable at meetings these days due to the girl softly tangled against me.

"Don't go, we need to go to the barn," she mumbles when I start to move to get up.

"What?" I ask.

"Past the meadow," she says, but the end of _meadow_ is lost against the pillow.

Oh, she's dreaming. As much as I'd like to stay and listen, I have to get going before Ros shells my nuts and serves them at the meeting.

As quietly as I can, I peel myself from Ana's body. Every time I'm freed from one limb another takes hold. She's gripping my flesh so tightly I know I'll be marked. That makes me grin.

"So good, Mr. Grey," she murmurs, lost in her dream. "I'm your pretty pony. I need your sugar cubes." Damn, what is this thing about?

I finally manage to free myself without waking her and tip-toe to the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind me.

I move to the shower and set the temperature for near scalding with a hard punishing flow.

Just the way I like it.

My phone buzzes on the counter and I go to check.

Welch.

"What?" I answer in a whisper yell.

"No morning wood for the staff?"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"You're not excited to hear from me?"

"It's five in the morning."

"And she just left," he says, so deliciously smug.

"Who?" Is Welch really that sick and twisted that he's calling me to tell me he's cheating on that wildebeest he calls wife.

"Lincoln."

"Is this your idea of fun—calling me up with this shit?"

"Elena Lincoln and your little friend's friend Merry visited a man at a house last night."

"What do you mean—visited?"

"The house in question belongs to a guy named Lou Garson."

"Is he a criminal?"

"Nope. Clean as a whistle. Accountant. Family man. A four-car garage all to himself, two kids with C report cards in Ivy League schools and through the roof alimony—you know, the American dream."

"Then why the hell are you calling me?"

"Are you taking a shower or is there a hurricane today?" he asks. "And why are you whispering?"

"I'm not talking about what I do naked in water with you," I say. "Or why I'm doing it quietly."

"Oh, believe me, I know all about that." He chuckles. "That's practically my whole job these days."

"Get to the point," I growl.

"Anyway," he continues, "Meredith entered the home at about six. Lincoln not until fifteen after ten. Meredith then left shortly after midnight. But... Lincoln just departed at 4:46 am."

"So, what are you saying—they had an orgy and Merry bailed early?"

"Could be. But that feeling's not rolling around in my gut."

"Look, Elena knows a lot of supposedly straight-laced guys who like to fuck kinky. This isn't news."

"Yeah, but why bring this Merry?"

"She was probably setting them up."

"I thought that, too. But, when I looked into this guy further, there's no evidence of him in the lifestyle. And, all these odds and ends bills he was late on are suddenly paid up to date."

"What does that mean?"

"Cable, electric, American Express."

"I know what you mean by bills! But, what are you saying? Elena's paying them?"

"Possibly. Possibly not. It's the possibilities that have my dick woke."

"Listen, I think all of this is fishy as fuck with Elena, but her meeting with some guy and a submissive isn't unusual activity. That's what she does."

"All night?"

"She likes to watch... activities. She goes to clubs to fulfill her voyeuristic kink." She'd take me there, after I was eighteen. I never liked watching or being watched, but I went.

"Why did Merry leave early?" he asks.

"I don't know... What's your theory?"

"I don't have one. I'm not sure if it has something to do with Leila Williams or that Granny shoot 'em up Botox business she's most likely going to fuck you with, but it's something. I just can't slap my dick on it yet. But I will."

"Good, now with that imagery you've just given me, I'll try not to vomit in my shower." He's made three erection jokes. I'd find this troubling, if he wasn't Welch. "Dig deeper and call me back." I hang up.

I don't think her meeting with some random guy is anything. He's probably a secret freak. Even Welch said he could be helping her try and screw me with the med spa bullshit. And, as much as that explanation makes sense to me, an un-played message on my phone catches my eye and causes me a wave of unexpected doubt.

Elena's call last night.

I press play.

"Christian," she starts commandingly. "I've been trying to reach you all day. And last night. I..." She pauses and when her voice returns it's softer, less sure. "Well, I just... I think we need to talk. You're unhappy with me, and it bothers me, and I just want to make it right." She sighs. "I need your ear on some business matters, and well... you know I think you've been preoccupied. I won't get into why again. You've made it quite clear, as has she, that it's not my place. But, I was wondering if you could stop by the downtown salon this evening. I need to speak with you in person. I'd like you to look at some books with my accountant for an idea I have. He lives nearby. It'll be quick. And it'll just be the three of us. Don't worry, Anastasia won't even miss you." She hangs up.

The accountant. She wanted me to see that accountant. That explains that. She was probably going to tell me about her med spa idea, so she wasn't trying to fuck me over with that. But, _just the three of us _is what leaves me with an uneasy feeling.

There would've been four.

The steam has enveloped the room, and when I look up into the mirror I don't see anything. The man who's reflection I've always known is gone.

#######

I adjust the cuffs on my shirt in the closet. My suit is pressed and crisp and my loafers polished. It's going to be a clear day today. The flight should be nice.

Fuck Elena. Whatever she's up to, I'll squash it.

Before I step out of the closet, I notice my husbandly sweater folded on a shelf. I told Taylor to get those cedar balls. I don't want any bugs eating holes in the rest of my life.

I reach over and stroke the wool. I like the strong knit and the soft pull. There's a bulge in the pocket. It's the gift from Ana. I remove it and examine it again. Such a sweet thought. A birthday present for me.

I want it with me, so I put it the pocket just inside my suit coat. It sits over my heart and I feel a warmth knowing I'll carry it there all day.

Ana is strangling my pillow now, still sleeping soundly, hair and limbs a beautiful tangled mess. I hate to wake her, but she has to get to work and I have this overwhelming need to kiss her goodbye.

"Hey, sleepyhead," I whisper against her hair and then kiss her forehead.

"Mmmmm," she murmurs in stretch and blinks her eyes open to see me leaning over her. "You're all dressed," she says with a frown.

"Yes, I have a meeting in our old stomping grounds late morning," I say and she scrunches her brow, confused. "Portland."

"Oh, the place we romped about when we were just kids."

"Yes, way back before arthritis and hearing aids," I say with my best old man impression as I stroke her hair.

She giggles and leans up, burying her face in my neck. "You smell good." She runs her lips from my throat, up my chin, to my mouth. "Don't go," she murmurs against it.

"Are you trying to keep a man from an honest day's work?" Our mouths don't part.

"Yes," she breathes and begins to kiss me. The passion in it builds and just as I find myself hovering over her on the bed, I stop.

"I would love nothing more than to sink into you right now, but..." I kiss her nose. "I have to go to this meeting. But, tonight, I am all yours. It'll be champagne and lobster tails and the two of us right back here." One final kiss on the lips, then I stand and head for the door.

"Wave to the Heathman for me," she says gleefully.

"Oh, I will." I smile. "Laters baby." She blows a kiss and I catch it and hold it to my heart.

I watch her for a moment longer, luxuriating in the sight of her in my bed. I want to memorize this picture. Every line and detail. Every scent and sound. All of her.

Finally, I take off. I'm a little emotional leaving her this morning, I don't know why. It's just a small trip, but I suppose it's because it's our first since we've really been together.

Taylor buzzes me that he's downstairs and I know I have to go. Charlie Tango is waiting and I'll be home in time for dinner.

**_Thank you for reading and all your comments and love! And thank you for your patience when life gets in the way of writing here. _**

**_It's Christian's Birthday and Father's Day on Sunday. I may be doing a cute story in the future with the kids about that. Stay tuned..._**

**_More on this story soon! Big CT crash ahead! _**

**_xox_**


	56. Chapter 56

"_**Anastasia**_," I type, addressing the blank, open email on my laptop that I've titled **_Surfaces_**. I continue on to the body, dreaming up the delicious things I want to do to hers.

**_I calculate that there are at least 30 surfaces to go. I am looking forward to each and every one of them. Then there are the floors, the walls—and let's not forget the balcony._**

Oh, the balcony... so hot. But no, it's so cold. And she could fall off. She's an awfully bouncy girl on my dick and that's a windy high-up situation.

I weigh whether or not to erase _balcony_ and replace it with _quadruple-paned glass heated skybox_ that I will have installed sixty seconds faster than pronto, but decide to let the fantasy element of it stay put. I want her wet and wanting and squirming against that leather desk chair in her office.

I close my eyes to envision that scene before I type on.

**_After that there's my office... _**

**_Not to mention all the surfaces in the new house..._**

**_It would take a lifetime to take you in all the places I want to take you in. _**

**_A man can dream. _**

**_Miss you. x_**

**_Christian Grey _**

**_Priapic CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc._**

A lifetime. I want so much more than that.

"Priapic?" a voice startles me from behind. It's Ros, reading over my shoulder. I had nearly forgotten that we're waiting in this conference room in Portland for our meeting to arrive. "And a little kiss after a _miss_ _you_? Oh, that's cute." She takes out her phone and starts to dial a number.

"Who are you calling?" I ask.

"The FBI to report Christian Grey missing." She snorts a laugh, but I don't think it's entirely because she finds this situation delightful.

"Well, hand me the phone after you're done, so I can report you for infiltrating my private material." I wedge myself between her laser-spy eyes and the screen.

"Excuse me," she says, "but I thought it was our presentation notes, not you writing fourth grade valentines."

"Hey, nobody says priapic in the fourth grade."

"Christian, be serious here."

"I am. Ros, I've got this handled."

"Like you did with the group from South Korea?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I nailed that deal. They sent me a ton of booze and flowers."

There's a _ding_. A reply from Ana. My fingers twitch, itching for the key that opens her up. Yes, even my typing to her is an act for effecting orgasm.

My eyes cut up to Ros, giving her a look that says walk away and puff on one of your cancer sticks out in the parking lot, but she folds her arms and leans back against the wall, smirking, as she waits for the next act of Love Letters to commence.

I eye her. "Would you mind going to check if our meeting is in the vicinity or if the downstairs Starbucks has sucked them up into its hyper caffeinated and commercialized vortex." I look at my watch. "I deduce these fuckers are already four minutes late."

"I deduce some things, too."

"Ros—"

She holds up a hand. "Fine, Romeo. I'll give you privacy while you send her a _roses are red, violets are blue and so are my balls right now for you_ poem along with your dick pic." She starts to leave and then stops and turns back. "And they better stay blue. If I see any wadded up tissue in the trash, they won't be any color but chopped off."

"Who do you think I am?" I ask, aghast at the implication I'd jerk off before a meeting.

"I have no fucking clue," she says, and then exits. She seems pissed, but I can hear a faint exasperated chuckle as she disappears down the hall.

I wonder if Ana would like some visual stimulation... No, that's the shit Elliot does. In the past he's accidentally sent me three of his erections thinking I was a cocktail waitress named Christiana whom he said gave good bottle service. I sent him an electric man groomer in response.

I re-focus and read Ana's email:

**_From: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Subject: Romance?_**

**_Date: June 17 2011 09:03_**

**_To: Christian Grey_**

**_Wait, why the question mark? Is she not sure? I like exclamations after my romance now. Absolute enthusiastic certainty. This has me on edge._**

**_Mr. Grey,_**

**_You have a one-track mind._**

**_I missed you at breakfast._**

**_But Mrs. Jones was very accommodating._**

**_A x_**

What the hell? How was Gail accommodating over breakfast? I can't see Ana requesting and getting excited over actual food items.

I gasp. Maybe Gail let her get away without eating anything at all.

I quickly text Gail: _Don't let Miss Steele fool you with that old banana at the office trick_, then fire off a response to Ana, asking what she's up to. She answers me back apace.

**_From: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Subject: Tapping Nose_**

**_Date: June 17 2011 09:10_**

**_To: Christian Grey_**

**_Wait and see—it's a surprise._**

**_I need to work...let me be._**

**_Love you._**

**_Ana x_**

She loves me... My heart swells.

I guess it's not a food related deception. It's a surprise. For me.

But I have issues with surprises. Even the good ones are out of my control.

I respond in type: **_I hate it when you keep things from me._**

I tap my Mont Blanc against the faux wood of this boardroom table, waiting for a response, when my phone rings. I'm hoping it's Ana, dreading it's Elena, but I find it's just Flynn.

What's he calling for? Maybe he's strapped for cash and decided to shake the piggy bank of my mental illness for coins.

"You were right. She's lovely," he says before I can even spit out a hello. And that's fast, because I've mastered rapid-fire greetings so as not to give people a pathway of communication to anything more than business association or tepid acquaintance-ship.

"She's perfect," I say. "Except for that tiny piece of rationale that should warn her to stay the hell away from me."

"Nobody's perfect, Christian. But, I do believe she's perfect for you—and you for her."

"Have you been skimming off the samples from your locked drawer?" I ask.

"Why would you say that?" he returns.

"Because I'm about as perfect for her as a shit slick under the ass of a snowman on Christmas Day."

"Interesting analogy," he says, and I can tell he's writing it down. "You know, I was full well expecting to give you two the talk last night about waiting for marriage."

"Well, Father John, we're way past that. They may not even let me wear a white shirt to the wedding. If there is one..."

Damn, why won't she give me my answer.

"I didn't mean sex." He laughs. "I'm quite aware of your proclivities. I meant actually waiting to wed. It's been an incredibly short period of time. You two haven't the first clue about what it takes to make a marriage work. The statistics of your situation weight it for failure—"

"Yes, yes, I've heard the whole spiel before, but I don't give a fuck about any of it. In fact, I did my own research. The top three things couples divorce over are money, infidelity and lack of sex. If that's true, buy us our Platinum Anniversary present now, because I have all the money in the world, I only want to fuck Ana, and I want to do it all the time."

"Christian, listen—"

"No—you listen. All that matters to me is being with Ana, caring for her and protecting her—loving her. She and I are not, and will never be a statistic."

"I know."

I let out a winded breath. "What?"

"I said, I know. That's why I'm not giving you that talk."

"What does that mean? We have the go ahead from you?"

"I didn't say that exactly. I'd like to discuss my thoughts further at a session. Perhaps you're free Monday?"

I was right. He is shaking my piggy brain bank.

"Fine, five o'clock," I say, "but I can't stay all hours at these things anymore. I need to be home by six-thirty. Ana will be waiting for me to eat dinner."

"I am more fine with that than you could possibly imagine," he says. The fucker is smiling, I know it.

"Good. See you then—"

"That's actually not the entirety of why I called," he says, much more grimly serious in tone. "I received some information about Leila that I thought we could discuss."

"I told you, I don't want to be involved in the details of any of that—"

"I know. I wouldn't call you unless it was important."

"Is she worse?"

"Yes and no, depending..."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Christian..." The way he says my name, I know it's bad. "She's in detox."

"Detox?" I ask, bemused. "I don't understand."

"Her blood work came back." He sighs, and I can hear his chair creak twice, which tells me he's sitting forward to look at something on his desk. I know his chair creaks well. "I don't even know where to begin with the narcotics that were found in her system on the night of arrival."

"She was on drugs?" I blurt out. It's less of a question, and more of a horrified realization. No wonder she looked like the ghost of my mother. My stomach seizes up.

"It was mostly a mix of prescriptions," he says.

"What does that mean—mostly?"

He pauses and takes a breath. "There was one illegal substance..."

"Well, what was it? Spit it out."

"Cocaine."

"Like crack," I say in a strangled whisper.

"Yes," he says, and no more.

A memory stabs through me, rather violently. My mother, cold and still on the ground of that rat hole we called an apartment. I covered her with my blanket and then, for awhile, wrapped myself under her arm. I snuggled to her close and I was happy she didn't push me away. Her long brown hair tangled around me. I still remember how nice that felt. I was content in that moment, because she was finally holding me. I just didn't know yet that what I thought was her love was just decaying flesh and still blood and nowhere further to go.

"How much? When?" I ask, my words strangling to escape. I shake my head, trying to rid myself of these flashbacks.

"She used within seventy-two hours of her coming in." I can hear him shuffling papers that he must be reading over. "There's nothing established in her records that I've seen, but do you know if she has ADHD?"

"What? No. No, not diagnosed back when we had our arrangement. Why?"

"There were moderately high levels of Adderall in her system as well. It's a drug to treat ADHD, but it is abused quite frequently." I hear him flip a page. "She also had track marks on her ankles near some other bruising and rope burns."

"I can't imagine her an addict. She was never..." I stand and start to pace. "I had all my subs vetted thoroughly for any drug use—even regular, everyday prescriptions." I try to find breath as I reach the window overlooking downtown Portland. All I can find is the continual truth that the common denominator between my mother and her is me.

"Did I do this to her?" I ask softly, struggling. "Did I make her turn to this? Could I do this to Ana, too?"

"It's not your fault."

"How the fuck do you know? She was after me—and Ana." I clench a fist at my side, still livid and horrified at how I put Ana in danger because of my fucked up life. "She slit her wrist in my kitchen. How do you know I didn't turn her into this?"

"Let's analyze this."

"Analyze what? That she's a crack addict now because of me? That she got high to escape whatever fucking pain I inflicted on her? That she tried to go after my future wife in retribution? The only thing I need to analyze is a plan to make sure this never fucking happens again."

"It's understandable she would want to self medicate in her condition..." He pauses, and I can tell he's weighing the words he's about to relay. "But listen to me Christian, as a medical professional, this isn't a cocktail of drugs that one would use for that purpose. It brings great distress, not escape. And with her psychological problems, it certainly concocted the perfect storm to absolutely drive her off the ledge."

"You think someone gave them to her—I mean, to intentionally fuel her madness?"

"It's only a guess, but my best one."

"The person who beat her?"

"Precisely."

"What has she said? Has she spoken about this at all?"

He lets out a frustrated sigh. "She refuses talk. She actually told the doctor she gave the bruises and lacerations to herself."

"That's impossible! There were lashes on her back so deep... I mean, she couldn't." I run a hand through my hair. "She's afraid to name this fucker."

"Yes, I agree. Look, I know I'm bending patient-doctor confidentiality by calling you, although she does know that you are responsible for her care at the hospital and she seems grateful for it. This is a unique situation. I thought your input was vital."

"My guy is looking into all of it," I say. "He hasn't found any evidence of a Dom yet, but he may have something soon. I'm sure that asshole is the one paying for those credit cards." I close my eyes and shake my head. "I should've found something sooner. I should've stopped this."

"Christian, don't beat yourself up over this."

"Sensitive word choice, Doc."

"I'm sorry. I just don't want you blaming yourself."

"How can I not?"

"Because you saved her life. She would've died out there, no question. I think she only had a matter of days—hours really. She's getting help, and because of you she's going to be okay."

"But who's to say that whoever did this is through with trying to get to her, or to me—or God forbid to Ana." I press a tight fist to my pursed lips.

Welch. I need to tell Welch.

I scramble to my computer as Flynn launches into some psyche speak about the dangers of self blame and jumping to negative conclusions without substantive cause, and I type a quick email to Welch.

Someone was drugging Leila. Serious stuff. I'll get you details. Look more into that fucking husband, her boyfriend who died, everyone associated with her before she went crazy. Whoever fueled this fire needs to pay.

Upon hitting send, I hear some commotion in the hallway. I look up and through the glass doors I see Ros and the group from the WSU Agricultural Department heading my way.

Fuck.

"Uhh... I have an important meeting right now," I say to Flynn, attempting to gather myself. "Can we talk later this afternoon?"

"Of course."

"I'll call you after I land in Seattle. I'm in Portland all morning."

"Good. I'll speak with you then."

I hang up, still reeling from the information as the doors part. In walks my meeting. Four suits and the glaring eyes of Ros trained on me, demanding my performance.

It's definitely fucking Tony winning showtime, Grey.

* * *

"Well, I'm glad we came to an agreement," I say to Ros as I open a glass door and we exit the building, heading toward the curbside SUV. We pass through a pair of tall marble columns that look like they were shoplifted from Socrates post hemlock.

"What agreement is that?" she asks.

"You know, we'll think about how we want to be fucked in the ass rather than sitting immediately on the splintered broom handle they're offering."

"It wasn't that bad, Christian," she says as we reach the car and the driver moves to open the rear passenger door. Taylor's back in Seattle, which makes me hate this gangling set of imposter limbs greeting us all the more. I step up and open it myself, as I always try to whenever someone new drives me. I only like Taylor's gorilla paws on my door handles.

"They're just bluffing," she continues. "They'll agree to our terms, more or less."

"Well, I only want more." In all areas of my life. "They're not shirking on their goddamn responsibilities. This project is going to be funded one way or another. And I'm going to make sure it fucking happens the way I want it to."

"Christian, calm down. I'm glad you were fired up for the presentation, but you practically speared their balls the second they walked in. Of course they're going to want to make you sit with shit in your pants for a little while. But I feel positive about that."

"Well, I'll feel more positive when they get the shit from their own pants together, dig through it, and give me the number I'm satisfied with."

"Well, don't expect booze and flowers like your South Korean boyfriends." She shakes her head and sits down in the car, but not before assessing my crazy. Yes, I know I'm a bit unhinged, but fuck it, can you blame me.

I need comfort right now. I need Ana.

"Take the Broadway route," I say to Mr. Handsy Gangle Limbs before getting inside, and he nods in service. He offers me a bottle of water and snacks before I sit, but I brush him away. I'll get something back in Seattle. We'll be there soon enough.

Once seated on the leather, I look at my BlackBerry. Twenty-seven percent power. Fuck, I should charge it, but there's a message from my girl which distracts me and brightens my whole life.

**_From: Anastasia Steele_**

**_Subject: Indulging you_**

**_Date: June 17 2011 09:14_**

**_To: Christian Grey_**

**_It's for your birthday._**

**_Another surprise._**

**_Don't be so petulant._**

**_A x_**

My birthday. There have been twenty-seven that have passed away and I've never mourned one of them. Not that they're funerals, but they've always felt like nails in some coffin.

I shift in my seat and the box inside my jacket and over my heart jiggles. I hold my hand over it, and press it to my chest to really feel it there. She's really planning for this day. For me.

She's probably only doing it out of duty, as the rest of my family does, but there's a part of me that doesn't believe so. It's the same part that's telling me that this year maybe it will be okay for me to be happy that I'm alive.

"Something wrong?" Ros asks, startling me back to attention.

"No, why?"

"You look like you're doing the pledge of allegiance." She nods to my hand over my heart, over the box.

"Maybe," I mutter and look out the window. My country ''tis of Ana.

I lean my head against the glass, watching life pass by. But now, it doesn't feel like it's passing me by. There's so much of it out there—couples holding hands, parents wrangling children, even an ordinary street vendor slopping sauerkraut and mustard on a foot long dog is interesting to me right now. I never really noticed any of it before. I existed, only traveling in metal boxes on wheels from one concrete block to another, always ending up high above the world and utterly alone. Elena said it all set me apart. She was right.

My attention perks when I see a familiar drug store, a sushi spot, and then a coffee shop where I first bought a girl a weak cup of tea.

And I know what comes next, after these places I remember. I look up and see it there on Broadway—The Heathman. That shining beacon of Portland. I may buy the place one day and declare it a national monument. I could pay Senator Blandino off to get that done. Believe me, he takes wires to the Cayman Islands.

I smile, remembering Ana's directive to me this morning and my promise to comply. So, I lift my hand up ever so slightly and then subtly rest my fingers on the glass, saying hello to the old building for her—for us.

"Are you waving at that hotel?" Ros asks.

Okay, maybe not so subtly.

"Just stretching the fingers," I say, flexing them back and forth against the pane.

"Yeah, I guess all the typing of those love letters really takes it out of you." She smirks.

"I'm sorry," I say, watching The Heathman disappear into the cacophony of concrete jungle.

"For what?" she asks.

"For leaving you with an enormous amount of responsibility lately, which you've handled beautifully. I know I've been distracted..."

"Yes, you have. And I really should be mad."

I assess her. "Aren't you?"

She shakes her head. "The show's just too damn good."

"What show?"

"You." She smiles. "I have to say when I heard you were tripping all over yourself to walk a girl you just met to the elevator, begging her to let you give her a tour around the building, after blowing off a meeting so you could spend extra time with her, I didn't believe them."

"Who's _them_? Is Andrea gossiping about me?"

"No, but I have my sources," she says. It was that Olivia, I know it. Or that Blake kid in accounting. The one who snaps his Larry King loving suspenders every time he attempts to greet me at our monthly breakfast meeting. You'd think it was creepy, but he always ends up pathetically hurting himself and cowering amidst the bagel schmears.

"I just wanted to see her out," I say. I won't mention I actually thought about getting in my car and following her back to Portland that night to make sure she got home in that biblical rain. I also won't mention I had Taylor do it.

"Yeah, you've never seen anyone out. Ever," she says with a laugh. "Not even your mother."

"It was that obvious?"

"You called Human Resources to see how fast they could staff a reading center on the same floor as your office."

"I thought people could relax on their breaks with a good book."

"Oh yes, and that also just so happened to include a management position for someone who specializes in English Literature."

"They might need guidance on the classics."

"I suppose that's where your newfound interest in SIP lies."

"I told you. I've always wanted to branch out into publishing. It was the perfect opportunity to purchase."

She looks at me a moment, a smile crossing her face. "It's nice to see you like this, Grey."

"Like what?"

"With your heels where your head should be."

"Head over heels?" I smirk. "I suppose I am." I look at her, trying to decide whether or not I should let her in on my secret. But, Ros is my right hand woman. I can trust her. "I asked her to marry me."

"You're shitting me," she says, gaping, as I nod. "What did she say?"

"I'm still waiting for my answer." I sigh and rest my head back against the seat leather.

"Well, well, well..." She grins. "And they say Christian Grey waits for no one."

"I know." I shake my head and smile. "Only one, now."

Only one.

I look out the window and into the clear blue sky, wishing her answer would fall from from it.

When my gaze returns to earth, I see a piece of street art featuring one of Washington State's greatest treasures, which gives me an idea.

"Hey," I say to Ros as we pull up to the helipad. "I know how to make all the shit I've put you through up to you today."

"How?"

I grin. "You're going to see a work of God."

* * *

"A volcanic eruption?!" Ros asks, clinging to her harness as I fly us over the stratovolcano that is Mount Saint Helens. "When you said 'work of God' I thought that at least meant five figures and something from Audi—not liquid hell."

"Come on, where's your sense of adventure, Ros?" I zoom the engine and she jumps.

"Not down there." She presses her head back against the rest and closes her eyes.

"It hasn't erupted since 2008," I say, still buzzing around it.

"Well, it's due. And I don't want to be in the delivery room."

I laugh. "You're fine. I promise. It's the safest it's been. They just lifted flight restrictions."

"That doesn't mean shit."

"Haven't you been on one of those helicopter tours when you and Gwen go to Hawaii?"

"Uh, no. Gwen went once while I stayed at the pool eating vodka soaked pineapple."

"Come on, look," I say. "You have to admit, it's pretty amazing."

She tepidly leans forward and looks out as I circle it.

"Admit it," I say. "It's breathtaking." My next thought is how I want to take Ana up here to see this. I can imagine her squealing and giggling beside me, how exited she'd be. I can imagine so much with her. Forever is just the beginning.

"Wow, Grey. It is..." Ros says, her jaw opening in awe. "It's magnificent." She leans forward, the nerves lessening as she inches her nose toward the glass.

"Here, I can get you a better view." I start to descend.

"Christian! Don't land on the thing!"

"I'm not." I laugh. "I know what I'm doing. Trust me, you're completely safe with me."

We swirl around it, darting and dipping to get just the right angle and view for the history lesson I'm providing her with. I'm just in the middle of recounting the eruption of 1980 and the safety measures in place now to give fair warning, when, with no warning, there's a quick jerk and a swift drop.

"What happened?" Ros asks as I work to even us out again.

"I think we just hit a strong gust of wind," I say after steadying us.

I try to continue the tour when there's another swift jerk. And another.

"That can't be wind!" Ros says in panic.

"It's fine," I say, in an effort to calm her. "We're flying low. It's turbulence." I try and adjust the controls when, in the mirror from behind, I see the faintest puff of what appears to be smoke. I adjust my mirror to get a better look, but the red light flashing on the control panel steals my attention back.

"Christian, why is that lit up?" she asks as I try to adjust the controls, but somehow I seem to be making it worse. Every button I press, or gauge I adjust works against the last one I steadied.

"I'm telling you, it's going to be okay," I say, though panic is trembling my words. "I just have to level this out—" I look at the heat gauge. "Oh fuck."

"What?" Ros asks.

"Fire," I whisper.

And as if on dramatic cue, the tail bursts into full flames.

"Oh my god!" Ros shrieks, and it's followed by sobbing screams.

"Mayday, Mayday," I yell into my headset, but I receive no response.

"Why aren't they answering?" Ros asks.

"I don't know," I say, and then try again and again with no result. "It's like all systems were completely cut off."

Everything begins to blur as the smoke billows around us fast, seeping in. We start to spiral and plunge as both engines have suddenly lost all power.

"Hold on tight, Ros," I yell as I work to bring us in for what will have to be a Hail Mary landing.

They say at the end of your life, the whole thing flashes before your eyes. But being here, on the brink of spiraling down into literal hell, I can say that that is not true.

The only thing I see is Ana.

**_Thanks for you patience! This is part one of the helicopter ordeal. It was too big to do in one chapter, so I split it up. Next part coming shortly. Love you guys for your all your words of support and reviews! xox_**


	57. Chapter 57

A light flashes. I can't actually see it, but the shadow of its existence pulsates across my closed eyelids. There's an urgency to it's angry beat; a foreboding danger—or an incessant reminder of the peril that was. Probably both. And I can now hear the alarm that sounds in time. There's heat and smoke and darkness all around me. Ash and sulfur permeate, and a fresh burn lays thick in the air and on my lungs. As I finally blink my eyes open and cough myself into consciousness, I wonder if we really didn't make it and now I'm in hell. Within seconds, I realize I'm not far off in my assessment. I'm in the cockpit of a now destroyed Charlie Tango, miles and miles away from any kind of civilization— and she's about to blow.

"Ros!" I call out frantically, my momentary amnesia violently reversed by the memory of her screams as we fell.

I lift my head and turn to face her seat, but I can't see her clearly through the smoke. More and more is seeping in. "Ros!" I call out again, waving through the haze, but there's no response. Just the blink and harried chime of alarm.

I hurriedly unstrap myself and attempt to crawl over to her side—after opening my door for air—but find my leg is trapped by debris. Wreckage from my control panel to be exact. The thing that once helped me soar is holding me down.

I kick what I can away and work to pull myself free, twisting and turning my shin to loosen the vice lock the metal has on me. The throbbing and burn from a wound I can't see yet are nearly unbearable, but I focus, channeling my breath to effect control on my pain. I've had experience. On a preparatory three count, I liberate my leg, moaning both my relief and my agony. The evidence of my misery is gashed and bleeding across my right calf, my pant leg in tatters, but I don't have time to tend to my wounds. I have to get Ros the hell out of here before the flames find fuel.

I shimmy over the center divide, gritting my teeth as my wound knocks against the control stick. As I wave away the smoke, the passenger window comes into view. I stop in my tracks when I spot the blood splattered pane.

"Ros!" I scramble frantically to her. "Ros, can you hear me?" I can finally make out her form, and once I'm closer, her face. Her eyes are closed and her head is tossed back onto the seat. There's a cut at her hairline. It bleeds down her cheek to her lip, but she makes no attempt to wipe it.

"Fuck," I say as I run a hand through my hair and pull. I panic. She could be dead.

I drop my ear to her chest and audibly sigh my relief when I hear her heartbeat. It's faint, but it's steady. She's still breathing. But there's so much smoke...

"Ros! Come on! Come back!" I shake her, and clean away her blood with my jacket sleeve. She must've slammed her head into the window on impact. I slap her cheeks repeatedly, in an effort to wake her, but it's futile. She's out cold and I'm running out of time before this thing explodes the opposite.

I ditch her cans, unclasp her harnesses and then struggle to pull her from her seat. I momentarily wonder if I should get out and lift her to safety from the passenger side, but plumes of thick smoke outside her window tell me no.

I manage to pull her across the pilot's seat and then stumble with her out the door. My leg threatens to hobble me, but my adrenaline tells it to fuck off, as I carry her several dozen feet away to safety and then lay her down.

"Everything is going to be okay," I pant. It's as much an assurance to her as it is to myself.

She can't remain lying flat out on the hard ground, so I prop her up on an emergency floatation device I rip from the back of Charlie Tango. In addition, I quickly inflate one of those orange vests stored for water landings and place it around her neck as a sort of cradle for her head. I'm pleased when I do a quick check of her vitals that the results are the same as before. I'm no doctor, but I think it's a concussion, as she looks like she took a pretty bad hit on that window. I hope to God that's all it is.

"Ros, come on," I say. "You know you want to give me shit for what just happened. I deserve it. What kind of asshole takes someone all the way out here to a volcano and then crashes them?"

Though, it's not lost on me that if I hadn't slowed our travel home and flown so low to see Mount Saint Helens, we'd have exploded over downtown Seattle. And we—along with whoever else was in our path—would most certainly be dead.

A thunderous bang nearly knocks me on my ass. An explosion. I turn and watch a piece of debris crash to the earth from the tail of the helicopter, flaming the ground beneath. It's minutes, if not seconds before the whole thing explodes.

Fuck!

"Ros, I have to put that fire out. Everything is going to be okay." She can't hear me of course, but I can. And I need to hear those words out loud. I let out a sharp breath and close my eyes. You can do this, Grey. You just need to retrieve the fire extinguisher. But that means going back inside.

The smoke is so much worse now. I take the scarf from around Ros's neck—it's Hermes, she'll kill me, I know— and tie it over my nose and mouth as I go back to the cockpit to find the antidote for flames. Easier said than done under these circumstances.

Where the fuck is it? My memory bank has obviously sent a cease and desist letter to all my EC135 safety training, because I don't know what the hell I'm doing or where I'm looking—of course, I can barely see anything at all. After ripping the place apart—even more than it already is—I finally spot that signature red and find the extinguisher encased just behind the pilot's seat. I lean down and reach for the latch to release it.

"Dammit!" I pull my hand back fast. The metal locking in the flame retardant is, ironically, fire to the touch. You'd think some fucker would've tested for that—to make sure when a fire happens the thing that holds the damn fire extinguisher doesn't burn the fuck out of your hand. Isn't that what fuckers get paid for? I make a mental note to buy the company, reverse this problem and fire all the fuckers. That is if I don't explode with this thing first.

I take the scarf, and holding my breath, wrap it around my fingers. It takes a few tries, but I'm able to shield my flesh from metal burns with this remarkably durable high end designer accessory and free the latch. Hermes means business. I kick the extinguisher to set it loose from its constraints and it sputters to the floor and whirls around. And just like the time I was coerced into a game of spin the bottle in Junior High and it landed on me, I grab it and run.

The fire is large. Much larger than I anticipated, and this equipment is small. They say to work from the fire center out to cool her down—or someone said it, I think. I don't know, maybe that was part of the safety training coming back to me, or maybe it was just Elliot loud mouthing about some oral sex experience he had with a stripper. Everything in my brain in melding into one at the moment. Sort of like a pillar candle when it's seared by too many wine and dines down to a pancake of wax.

I spray directly at the heart of it and work in a circular motion outward. The advice must've been good, or I'm a lucky son of a bitch, because the flames eventually succumb to my tool. Wait, it definitely was Elliot who gave the advice. He used that same line.

I should be celebrating, but I can't. Charlie Tango is destroyed. I stand motionless in the midst of her smoking wreckage. I know I have more to do, but she deserves a moment of silence.

I return to the cockpit and attempt to use the radio again, but there's no signal. I click it on and off, repeatedly. All tries yielding the same result of nothing. There's not even that fuzz that taunts you into believing someone might eventually be there on the other end. It's just gone dead.

Actually, it's been dead. I can understand the crash knocking it out, but why was it down well before we landed? Why couldn't I contact anyone at the first signs of trouble?

I don't have time to investigate right now, as I need to get us the hell out of here and to safety. My BlackBerry was working, I recall. I pull it out from my pants pocket and look for the signal. I only have one bar.

But, I have one bar!

I race to call Taylor to alert him to the situation so he can get help, but the call doesn't go through and I lose that one bar.

No service.

"Dammit!" I yell out, my voice echoing in the void. But there's no one around to hear me. Now I know how those trees in the forest feel when they fall.

I look down at the screen of my phone and see Ana's picture. Her smiling face. I touch a finger to her blushed cheek and stroke it down the glass. Tears prick at the real possibility I may never see her again.

I start thinking about that morning right before I met Ana. Everything was different than it would be a gathering of hours later. The way I sipped my coffee and watched the city from my windows on high. How I tallied up dollars from some deal like they really meant something to my worth. I didn't want to do that stupid interview, I thought that morning. Ten minutes and my asshole self would be over and done. Ten minutes and he was.

"Oh, Ana," I whisper and touch her face on the screen again. I have to fight to get back to her. If it's the last thing I ever do.

It's been hours since I've eaten anything and I barely sipped on some coffee during the morning's meeting. The whole Leila situation had my stomach in knots, and much like right now, I just wanted to get back home to Ana. But theses feelings of hunger are making me uneasy and I'm starting to shake. Hunger does that to me.

I decide to rummage through our stuff for drink or food, but all I can salvage is a bottle of water filled about a third and some cellophane wrapped peppermints that are scattered in Ros's handbag. I have nothing of sustenance with me. Sad and fitting irony, if I should end up dying of starvation.

I bring the paltry supplies and a first aid kit back over to Ros, who's still out. I need to clean her wound and stop her bleeding, and then my own. I pop a mint to at least gain a burst of energy from the sugar.

"Come on, Ros," I say as I sit her up. "You can't die on me here. You can't. You're one of the toughest people I know. You have to fight. You have to get back to Gwen. And I have to get back to Ana." I let go of my held breath. "Either that or we die trying."

I take a capful of water and wash the wound on her head, following it with peroxide. They have bandages in this kit that look like they were made for miniature turtles. I take the scarf and tie it around her head instead.

"That's Hermes, Grey," Ros sloppily mutters, startling me, as she slowly comes back to life.

I knew she'd have my balls on that one.

"Ros!" I say with jubilance, and I have to admit, some tears. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

"More like sore head," she says as she touches it, wincing on contact. "What the hell happened?"

"We had a little accident."

"Little?" she asks and then turns her gaze to the wreckage. "Oh my God. Is that us?"

"Yes. Crash landing, remember?"

"I want to forget." She turns back to me slowly. "How long have we been out here?"

"Not _that_ long."

"What do you mean by _that_?" she asks and then looks down at herself. "And why am I wearing an orange vest? Were we in the water?"

"No, it's for your neck."

"My neck?" She squeezes it. "What happened to my neck?"

"No, it's to rest your head on. It needed to be elevated." She gives me a looks that demands further explanation. "You hit it and you were bleeding pretty badly." I gesture to it. "I cleaned your wound and tied the scarf as a bandage since the manufacturers of this shitty first aid kit only supplied quantities for small marine life." She looks at me like I'm odd. Good, she's really getting back to normal. I pour some peroxide on my own gash. The blood, sweat and disinfectant seeping though my torn pants. God, this kills.

"And you dragged me out of that helicopter and put the fire out?" She nods to the smoking wreckage.

"Yeah," I say, attempting to tie some of this gauze around my leg. I've stretched it so far my hair is poking through. I guess turtles don't have this problem.

"You really are the Boy Scout," she says with a laugh conveying delightful disbelief.

"Hardly," I scoff.

"Thank you," she says with a heartfelt smile. I have to look away. I'm not used to emotionally connected moments with Ros. I'm used to her hacking off my balls.

"For what?" I play it off. "For supplying fodder for your nightmares for years to come—if we even survive long enough to get another night's sleep?"

"Accept the gratitude, Grey. You saved my life. I owe you one."

"Didn't you just hear me? I crashed us."

"No, you landed us."

"With a crash before the landed part." I wipe some sweat and soot from my brow with a handkerchief I pull from my pocket. I notice a smear of pink on it. I had used it to wipe away some tinted lip balm from Ana's kiss goodbye in bed this morning. "I didn't do anything, Ros. I just did what I could." And all I can do right now is bring the stain from Ana's lips to my own.

"How..." she starts and then closes her eyes and winces. "How do we get back home?"

I take a small sip of water, as every drop counts now. I have all the money in the world and I can't even quench a simple thirst. "I don't know yet," I say as I hold the water up to her lips. "Just drink a little." She forces herself to sip. "I'm going to figure this out."

"Wait, Grey. I know what we do," she says.

"Oh yeah?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"Come again?"

"We do nothing." Shes serious about this.

"That hit to your head was worse than I thought," I say.

"No, listen to me. We sit right here, by the helicopter, and wait. Think about it. We dropped off of radar. They saw that. They'll send a search party. It's only a matter of time, right?"

"Right," I say, with cautious optimism. She is right. I mean, that's the logical course of events when these things happen. There's a search for survivors. If we wander off on our own, they may never find us and we may never find our way back. "Yes, we wait here. Someone will come to rescue us soon."

I sit down next to her and we watch the smoke from the wreckage climb to the sky.

Soon turns into over an hour and optimism leaves town on my caution. I watch the battery of my BlackBerry dive from the teens to ten and then all the way down to three percent. I haven't turned it off. I couldn't. I've continued to look at Ana's face. It's the only thing that I have to hold on to and I know that will soon disappear, too.

I missed breakfast with Anastasia this morning. My stomach growling isn't the thing reminding me, though it's loud and angry and feels like the last time I sat near death. I had to get to this meeting today so badly that I may have lost my last opportunity to watch her nibble her bacon and sip her tea, all the while telling me the silliest joke that makes her laugh, which in turn makes me the happiest son of a bitch on earth. I missed riding to work with her and I didn't even realize the moment I wiped away her last kiss goodbye.

I reach into my front jacket pocket and touch the box she gave me that sits over my heart. I pull it out and look at it, fingering the paper and the bow.

"You shouldn't have, Grey," Ros says in nod to the gift.

"I didn't," I say with a brow raise. "It's my birthday gift from Anastasia."

"Wow, Grey," she says softly and seemingly touched, possibly shocked, by the fact I've been given a small box with a bow by a girl. I feel the same.

She watches me as I play with the wrapping some more, jiggle it for sounds clues, and then clasp it tightly in my hand again.

"The suspense is killing me. Are you going open it?" she asks.

"Tomorrow." I say. "I promised her I'd wait until tomorrow." I gaze almost meditatively at the box, like one would to a Buddha, or a statue of the Virgin Mary or some other religious symbol. Something about it calms me and gives me hope. I may just be dehydrated and tired—and obviously certifiable—but it's speaking to me. Not audibly, but to some place deeply felt. It has a message for me. It's trying to point me home.

"No one is coming for us," I say to Ros, as the realization sweeps over me. I hear those words in that deeply felt place.

"What?" she asks, with a perplexed frown.

"They aren't coming," I say, even more certain now.

"They will eventually."

"Eventually we'll be dead."

"Way to think positively, Grey."

"Positivity won't get us out of here."

"What about the search teams? They're coming—"

"They're not."

"You're Christian Grey. People will be looking for you. They saw your helicopter go down on radar—"

"Did they?"

"How could they not?"

"They saw that we disappeared, yes, but probably not anywhere near here."

"Why do you say that?"

"I think communication was cut off." I look at her in all seriousness. "Do you know how rare it is to lose two engines at once?"

"Are you telling me you think someone did this on purpose?"

"I'm telling you my best asset in life has always been my gut. My instinct in situations. You know me. So, trust me when I tell you they're not coming. And if we wait out here, I don't think we can make it through the night."

"Christian—"

"I am not willing to sit here and not fight like hell to get back to Anastasia. And I know you want to do the same for Gwen."

She sighs, and then after a few moments, softly says, "Okay." She leans forward, propped on her elbows. "What do we do?"

"We walk. I actually have a map of the area someone gave me when the flight restrictions were lifted. It's probably hard as hell to pinpoint our location, but we'll get a scope of the general area. At least we'll know if we're far out of range. And my watch has a compass, so we can use that."

"So we just start walking," she says. Hell, she's been injured. How can I ask this of her?

"I'll carry you," I say.

"Oh right. You're going to carry me miles and miles back to civilization over this who the hell knows what terrain? No thanks. I don't need to give you more of a hero complex. I can rescue my damn self."

Damn. She sounds like Ana.

"You're okay to walk?" I ask.

"I hit my head not my feet," she says. "Plus, your leg is shredded."

"I'm trained to be good with pain," I say. She shoots me an odd look. "I had a lot of rowing injuries in school. Torturous coach." I wisely shut my mouth.

"Okay, so we're doing this?" I ask.

"Yep," she says. I guess I can be glad I just updated my will. Gwen won't have to fight over my closet with my sister if we get eaten by mountain lions."

"Oh my God!" I stand, sheer terror overcoming me. I bring both hands to my hair and pull. "Fuck!" I yell.

"Are you that afraid of mountain lions?" she asks, then darts her eyes around. "Are there that many out here?"

"No. Not the fucking mountain lions. My will." I'm on the verge of hyperventilating. "I need to do my will. I can't die without doing it."

"I'm pretty sure your lawyers have taken care of that, Grey."

"No, no, they don't know about Ana," I say as I race to our things and frantically dig through my briefcase. I find a pen, but no blank paper. But I have the WSU papers from the meeting.

"What are you doing?"she asks as I press the stack of papers against the side of Charlie Tango and start to write on the back of one.

"Re-writing my will."

"Those are our WSU contracts!"

"Oh, fuck the paper work!" I actually stop and smile at that one.

I write:

**_I, Christian Grey, being of sound mind and body, leave everything that isn't already set aside in trust to my family and specified charities, to Miss Anastasia Steele, who is to be my wife. _**

**_The homes, the cars, the businesses, everything. _**

**_It's all hers. Everything. _**

**_Everything! _**

I underline the last everything thrice and sign my name with the date.

I hope I got the point well enough across that she gets everything.

I look down at my BlackBerry again to see Ana's beautiful face, her smile. I touch it, and then with no warning it flashes off. The power lost. She's gone.

"What'd you leave her?" Ros asks as I fold the papers and write my father's name and legal office information on the front.

"Everything," I say, trying to remember all the names at my father's practice for the address heading. I realize I forgot Sconce. He joined in April. He really is just a glorified candle holder.

"Everything?" She sounds surprised.

"Everything."

"You left her GEH?"

"Yes. More than that. SIP, all the other businesses." It actually makes me smile that Ana will be Elena's boss. Maybe I can be a ghost in the room at their first meeting.

"What's she going to do with all of it?" Ros asks.

"Be one of the richest women on the planet." I prop the will on the seat in Charlie Tango. It'll be protected from weather in here and the first place they'll look.

"No, I mean how will she run it? She just got out of college."

"Hey, I started the whole thing before I should've gotten out of college, what's your point?"

"You know what I mean."

"There's a good team in place. She's brilliant. I have full faith she can manage things with the proper assistance. My family will also help."

"And she's going to accept everything? I thought you said she doesn't like extravagances."

"Extravagances?" I ask, furrowing my brow. "What's extravagant about my life and possessions?"

Oh shit, she's right. Ana won't just take everything I'm willing to her. Knowing her, she'll refuse it outright. She turned down a car and twenty-four grand, there's no way she'll accept my multi-billion-dollar empire, four homes, twelve cars and a yacht.

"There's one thing I need to do before we go," I say to Ros. Before she can respond, I race to get more WSU paperwork and then return to the helicopter.

Propping the new will beside me, I slide back in the cockpit and start to compose what could be the last most important words of my life:

**_My Ana,_**

**_If you're reading this, it's because I'm not such a hot shot pilot after all. I'm sitting amidst the wreckage of Charlie Tango, in the spot I first saw ribbons of moonlight in your hair and on your face. While you were looking down over the city that first flight, I was looking at you. I'm surprised I didn't crash us then. I sure felt like I was falling out of some sky. _**

**_I don't know what happened this afternoon, but I'll leave that to the experts. This letter isn't about that, it's about what I want to happen. It's about how much I love you. _**

**_Ros and I are going to try to walk and find help right now, but if we don't... Just know, I'm not afraid to die, so don't cry for me much. I can't bear to imagine you again piecing a heart together that I've broken. I've been preparing for a dire end most of my life, so it comes as no surprise. You have been my life's surprise. _**

**_This story will at least be an exciting one to attach to my grave. Please tell it for me, and make me sound like the hero. God knows, only you can make me into that. _**

**_I keep thinking of all the things I won't get to do in this life and every one involves you. I won't be the one to put the ring on your finger, or see you walk to me underneath a netting of veil. I so looked forward to taking you to the British Museum and dancing at midnight to street violin beneath Notre Dame. Our date to Paris. Yes, that was to be our honeymoon. I won't be confused when Mrs. Grey calls me at the office and it isn't my mother, or get a thrill when I realize it's you. We won't move into the house..._**

I stop writing to take a breath and regain my composure. A tear has found the corner of my mouth and then finds the page.

**_But I want you to live there. Please make it a home, like you would for us. Nothing fussy with sharp edges and no color. I'd like to imagine a room with a big floppy couch and a fireplace and a coffee table that welcomes slippered feet—and those bowls of wooden apples. Ask Taylor about that. Invite my family over and show them the meadow, and tell them all we had planned. Please tell them I love them. I never told them myself. _**

**_There are a few things I need to tell you now. It's business and it's important. I know you'll fight me on this, but please hear me out. This is my dying wish. Please don't deny it to me. The only real fear I have right now is that you will have left me with everything and I will have left you with nothing. _**

**_There wasn't a will in place that includes you, as I was planning to revise everything before we got married—if you gave me your yes, of course. So, I've left a hand written amendment, along with this letter, on the pilot's seat of Charlie Tango. Since you're reading this, they've found it. Make sure my father handles this, as I don't want anything caught up in red tape and money wasted in the courts. You are my sole beneficiary, apart from monies I already set aside in trusts for my family and charity. I suppose it's fitting that the last thing I do is bestow riches on you against your will, but I always have been a high handed son of a bitch. You've said so yourself. But please, I don't want you to turn this away. This is yours. This came from me. This was all to be ours. _**

**_I only have a few stipulations. They aren't requirements for you taking it, but they are my wishes and I hope you'll take them to heart. _**

**_1\. You spend it. Not everything at once, though that would be impossible unless you were into some serious yachting and territory acquisitions. I don't see you country shopping any time soon, so go wild. Enjoy it. Every penny is worth that smile on your face. The bliss it brings me to imagine your closet filled with new beautiful clothes is immense. Silks and satins. That's the only thing my girl should wear. Except for my t-shirt when you go to bed. At least for a little while longer. _**

**_2\. I know you want to work—so work! The experts are in place to help you manage GEH and the businesses, so you just have to oversee things there. Keep Taylor on staff. He'll keep you safe as he never sleeps and arrives fifteen minutes early for everything with a gun. Do whatever you wish with the salons. I'm grinning imagining Mrs. Robinson's reaction to you presenting this information. _**

**_You are the CEO of SIP as of this letter. Get it up and running to its best ability. Ana, you are every bit as talented and smart as I am. Use my status and dollars and whatever mark I've made on this world to make your dreams come true. You can build your own empire off of mine. Nothing would make me happier. _**

**_3\. Fall in love again. Yes, you read that right. I know I told you that if I died, I'd haunt the fuck out of the poor schlump who stepped in. That's still true. But, I don't want you to live your life alone like I did. Loss can gut you, I know firsthand. Get out there and meet someone who can make you happy. Just make sure he's not after the money. Don't give him a penny. Even though you're wealthy, he's a man, he should still take care of you. And if he doesn't understand that, he's not worth your time. Of course to me, no one is. _**

**_4\. Don't let it be Jose Rodriguez. _**

**_5\. Or Ethan Kavanagh. _**

**_6\. Or Paul Clayton. _**

**_7\. I guess it's easier to imagine you with someone who doesn't have a face. Or a dick. I know, I digress. _**

**_I don't want to end this letter, as it could be the last words I ever say to you, but I have to go now to try to make sure they're not. _**

**_Ana, these last weeks have been the best in my life. If the angels or the devil himself appeared and told me I could either live to a ripe old ninety-eight or trade the next seven decades of my life for that one moment you fell into my office, the answer would be easy. _**

**_The answer is always yes. _**

**_I love you. _**

**_Yours, Christian_**

**_P.S. Please remember to eat. Bananas are not breakfast. _**

I place the folded paper addressed to Anastasia next to the will on the pilot's seat. I look at her name written by my hand and whisper it. I just want to feel her on my lips one more time.

"Did you write a novel over there?" Ros asks as I return with the map now in hand.

"The second in my trilogy," I say with an eye roll. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she says. "Point me in the right direction."

I consult my map and then my compass. "West. We want to go West."

And west we head.

**_Love you guys! More soon! xox_**


End file.
